#like i need this part to come across as more panicky but i ALSO need to describe the fucking place

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

fellas, is it a cop-out to have your narrator use A Grounding Exercise to avert a panic attack (but also stealthily get in some setting description during a Very Bad Time For It, momentum-wise), or is that actually a brilliant way to incorporate said details, asking for a friend

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BATMAN | BAT FAMILY (assorted canon)

—

“Long Overdue” (Bruce Wayne x Batmom!Reader)

| Reader was with Bruce in the past but grew distant after Jason’s death. No one tells her when he comes back from the dead until Bruce is forced to bring her in on an ambush when they’re overwhelmed. -Jason and Batmom!Reader reunion.

| SFW, canon typical action, Reader & Bruce are divorced, -angry!reader & Caribbean-American!Reader (kinda)

| This is like half fanon half UTRH/Batman:Hush. I’m really just fucking around with canon rn. Also the pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (pic source: Gotham Knights video game)

| 1k+ words

| parts: one, spurt, two, three, four, five, six/six point five, seven. (series masterlist)

“Baaats!”

At Dick’s pointed tone, thrown across the battlefield as he’s cornered by six of Black Mask’s and Penguin’s combined men, Bruce clenches his teeth harder.

“Ah shit.” Jason throws one goon into two more with a grunt. “If golden boy’s getting panicky, what’s that mean for the rest of us?”

Dick takes two guys out with an escrima stick.

“Har har, Hood.”

Jason shrugs from the other side of the factory floor, looking increasingly more frustrated and likely to abandon Bruce’s ‘no gun’ stipulation for their shared mission as he’s ganged up on.

“This really isn’t looking good, Bats.”

Barbra’s voice coming into his earpiece just adds to the steady growth of gray hairs on his head. Bruce brings his hands up to block the swing of a crowbar from a man wearing a crude approximation of Black Mask’s face.

“Give me a status update, Oracle.”

“To put it eloquently? You’re fucked.”

Her forced glibness makes Dick throw out another pointed call of his name and Jason cackle. Bruce just sighs.

“What are you suggesting?”

He regrets asking immediately after he does at Barbara's next words.

“Well, with Batgirl away, Robin out, and Gordon and the rest of the GCPD running interference to keep the victims away from Mask’s remaining men I’m saying you hit the emergency backup button.”

Bruce grunts as he goes down to swipe two mens’ feet from under them, cape swishing in a low arc behind him and then catching the air as he pushes himself up and punches another out.

“No.”

There’s a groan in his earpiece.

“I really think now’s the time to practice the humility we’ve been working on, B!”

“I wish you luck with that,” Jason grunts before a quiet: “Fuck it.”

Bruce braces himself for the onslaught of bullets from his second son when the sound of the large skyline window shattering echoes around the spacious room. A figure drops in following the cascade of glass.

The whole room seems to pause, then, during which the figure rises out of their crouch.

“Oh holy shit,” falls past Jason's mouth before they start moving.

In the rush of the night and with the distance between the last time he saw you, Jason might not recognize your voice, but Bruce does immediately.

“Oracle! Explain, now.”

Barbara’s voice is unbothered as she speaks.

“First, the next time you demand an answer from me you can do your own recon, and Second, you need the help so I don’t want to hear it.”

“Yeah Bruce,” your voice in his ear causes him to take an unceremonious hit to the abdomen. “Respect the woman. She’s the reason I’m over here saving your pompous ass.”

As Bruce backtracks from the man and catches the guy's leg when he goes to kick him, you’re already moving. You dodge in and out of groups of men, using your momentum to get them on the ground and not letting them get back up.

He throws his assailant to the floor.

“I thought you said you didn’t want anything to do with Gotham?”

You kick a woman into him and he catches and electrocutes her before dropping her to the ground.

“I said that about you not Gotham, and Nightwing’s here so I had to come,” you counter.

Bruce grunts as you get low to strike a man in the knee caps with your baton and then bowl him over.

Nightwing and you end up back to back between one blink and the next and Bruce can already feel a headache coming on as he takes out four more goons.

“I for one am very happy you're here, Nightfall.”

Jason snorts from off to the side, already spurred back into action, but blessedly with his guns holstered, and punches a person's nose in.

The crunch reverberates over the coms.

“Of course your name’s Nightfall. You fit right goddamn in.”

You laugh, it makes his heart clench. It’s been almost a year since the last time he saw you well (he’d seen you at Stephanie’s funeral but you’d fervently ignored him), and the last full conversation you’d had hadn’t exactly ended amicably between the two of you.

It’s like it’s five years ago - back when you still worked together - as the fight begins to rapidly turn in their favor. Where the droves of goons had seemed endless minutes ago they were now getting smaller and sloppier.

You were an unexpected obstacle and Bruce’s sure whatever sorry canon fodder Mask and Pinguine had scrounged up weren’t old enough to know who you were, let alone how to anticipate how you fought.

Hell, Bruce had grown familiar with you over the course of several years and the night you left your hit had still managed to catch him off guard.

It’s as things are slowing down that the other side throws their own curveball. A shot rings out, it’s not Jason’s, and then all of a sudden you’re a blur in front of him as you shove Hood out of the way.

Bruce’s breath catches in his throat when a pained whimper comes from one of you and he’s running before he’s fully realized it, Dick at his side.

He stops and kneels next to the two of you, quickly assessing that the bullet meant for Jason is now embedded in your arm. The compromise in your suit should make seeing the skin underneath easy but the bullet wound gushes crimson over whatever brown that could’ve been showing. The only good part was that Bruce could also see an exit wound. He doesn’t think as he reaches out.

You knock his hands away, “I’m fine, Bats.”

“You’re bleeding,” he forces out.

Even behind the mask the look you shoot him is nasty.

“I’m fully well aware,” you stretch out your shoulder and wince before forcing yourself to your feet. “I’m competent enough to tell that much.”

“I never said you weren’t.”

He watches you split your attention between him and a now getting up Hood.

“Oh, but aren’t you always on some holier than thou bullshit?”

Your voice turns sickly sweet and Bruce sighs.

“Now’s not the time for your petulance, you need to get that checked.”

Holding your arm you slowly turn fully to him with a tilt of your head.

“Excuse me?”

Bruce clenches his eyes shut and forces himself to stop reacting and to start thinking. He’s not going to get you anywhere if he makes you feel stupid. Talking to you like he does the kids has never once worked (and if he was being honest with himself it didn’t work on them either), he’s just operating on emotion.

When he opens his eyes again you're still staring at him, hip cocked and the weight of your glare firmly in place. No distance, it seemed, was going to stop him from being able to read you.

He doesn’t get a chance to speak before snickering distracts everyone though.

As a collective you, him, and Dick turn towards where Jason is struggling to contain himself. He waves you all off.

“No no, don’t mind me. I’m just enjoying someone not treating B like he’s God for once.”

Off to the side Dick starts to grumble before you move to watch Jason. Your point is almost accusatory as you indicate the gun clad man with no affiliate insignia on his chest.

“Who are you again?”

It’s mean, your tone icy as you look him up and down.

Jason stops laughing.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean, lady?”

You and the 19 year old go rigid as you stare one another down. Jason looks like he’s about to get vindictive any second and you look seconds away from tearing him and Bruce a new asshole, never mind that you just took a bullet for him.

It’s Dick, as per usual, who saves them all.

“Alright, how about we all just take a breath. Batman needs to go deal with the cops, who according to Oracle have finally gotten here. Nightfall it was nice to have you back, however briefly. And Hood, chill.” From where he’s planted himself between you and Jason he mimics taking a deep breath. “Everybody just chill.”

As the both of you start gearing up to go Bruce finds his voice.

“You should all come down to the cave to get checked up,” his jaw clenches. “Please.”

“Mm,” you purse your lips, arms shaking as you scoff but otherwise (thank god) nod your head. “Fine. I could stand seeing Agent A and Robin again.”

You stare at him hard afterwards and Bruce wants to say something but the words lodge at the base of his throat again and even clearing it doesn’t help. Eventually you clap Nightwing on the back before sighing and sliding close to him to press the call button for the Batmobile that’s on his belt yourself.

The indicator sounds and the easy peel of the tires moving around a corner follows your departure as you walk out the exit not swarming with police and hop into the vehicle.

He wasn’t able to say what he wanted but the thought of you in the Batmobile makes him feel warm enough. Now if only-

“Hood?”

Jason only stares at him and Bruce finds himself at a loss, a feeling that’s becoming familiar when around his son. He wants to get that limp checked out like it’ll personally improve his own health, along with whatever other ailments Jason’s managed to acquire running around on his own.

‘Like he would’ve been today if he hadn’t been desperate enough to cave and call,’ something whispers in his head.

Jason had the situation handled initially, and so close to the outskirts of the city Bruce hadn’t even known this transaction was happening at all, he didn’t have to bring them in on it and Bruce is certain he wouldn’t have if getting the kids to safety hadn’t been Jason’s top priority.

Dick waves his grappling gun, “I’ll race you there.”

Jason scoffs, only a domino masking his identity because he’d been forced to blow his helmet up in a last ditch effort to get Bruce’s attention.

”I’m not a child,” but then he looks at the Batmobile and his stance becomes just that much more open. He points a challenging finger at Dick. “But I definitely don’t want to be stuck in a closed space with Nightfall either, so you’re on, Goldy.”

The two of them swing off together making all sorts of noise and the vice around Bruce’s heart loosens a little. Everyone was secured.

“You didn’t tell her, did you?”

Bruce grunts as he advances towards Gordon.

“I was busy.”

Barbara scoffs, “Even my professors don’t take excuses like that B, don’t give me that. She deserves to know.”

“She’s here now. I’ll tell her eventually.”

“Mhm, sure,” she intones. “You have until you get back.”

Bruce doesn’t get to argue with her before the woman logs off.

…TBC

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed! This is part one of a series. Mind any typos I’ll get to them eventually.

[butwhyduh]

Red Sun

Kon Kent x batsis!Reader

Summary: The prompt was “this isn’t you”

Warning: angst, death.

Your eyes stung as water fell in them as you stared up to the roof in the rain. Your enemy was standing there, almost falling over with exhaustion. You were similar.

“Give up now. Before you get yourself killed,” Connor called up beside you. He wasn’t as bad off but still tired. The villain laughed.

“I only wish I could stay for the show,” they said before moving their hands in a complex motion while speaking a language you couldn’t understand. The palm of their hand glowed red and you jumped away to avoid being it. It didn’t hit you, by a long shot. It hit Connor straight in the chest.

“No,” you gasped looking him over for injuries. Nothing was visibly wrong with him. “Superboy are you okay?”

He turned to you and his eyes glowed red. You immediately pushed your panic button on your suit. The villain cackled and ran off with renewed energy.

“Superboy, what’s going on?”

Connor just looked at you coldly and walked towards you. Much the way prey animals can sense danger and instinctively runs away, your body moved backwards from your boyfriend. You sensed something wrong in him.

“Hey, what are you doing?” You asked a little panicky. If he was cursed or brainwashed or whatever, you had maybe 5 minutes before Kryptonite was needed to save you. Your nearest Bat was Jason in Gotham and that was at least 20 minutes away. He took a step towards you and you jumped back.

“Connor, you know me. This isn’t you,” you said, trying to plead with him. You cursed yourself for not listening to Bruce. He warned you to have Kryptonite. But your boyfriend would get sick and weak around it and you trusted him. But this isn’t him.

He curled a hand into a fist and punched towards you almost lazily. You barely dodged it and realized he was backing you into a corner of the alley. He punched again and this time his lazy punch hit the wall and bits of brick fell to the ground. That punch alone could kill you.

“Connor, hey. Don’t do this. You’re stronger than that,” you begged. He hit out and you tried to duck but instead you were grabbed and thrown bodily into the bricks.

“Connor!” You gasped. You tried to push up with your arms only to fall bodily. One was definitely broken. You trembled as you pulled yourself up. “Stop.”

There wasn’t a single glance of humanity in his eyes. They were red and mad from the magical influence. He grabbed you and slung you again. Your head hit brick and you heard a ringing as your vision spun. Head injury. Blood pooled from your nose. Your boyfriend was going to slowly beat you to death. Great.

“Connor, Kon. I love you,” you whimpered as he pulled you up by your shoulder. You squirmed in his grasp as your head throbbed and your arm burned. You held it close to your body. Connor’s other hand wrapped around your throat and you grab at it with your good hand. It was like pulling on concrete.

“No, no,” you pleaded. Tears burned your eyes and not even the cold rain could soothe the burned you felt from his hands. He was burning up. Fingers tightened on your throat and your eyes went wide. You frantically clawed at any part of him you could reach. You didn’t even manage to leave a single mark. Your brain throbbed and lungs burned.

It wouldn’t be long now. The burn in your lungs stretched onward and was so prevalent that you couldn’t even feel your broken arm and injured head. Your hand stopped it’s frantic scratching to rest on Connor’s arm. Black spots darkened your vision. A few body spasms and your consciousness left you. Connor held your body for a few more minutes before letting you drop to the ground.

The spell broke and he gasped with sudden realization. He scooped you up. “No,” he said. “No. No.” He laid you on the concrete and started CPR. His movements were jerky as he tried to bring you back. “Come on. Come on!”

“What’s going on!” Jason asked as Connor did chest compressions. Conor didn’t answer but continued with tears in his eyes. Bringing you back was the only option. Jason noticed ligature marks around your neck and the concrete chunks on the ground. He pulled a shot of epinephrine from his belt and pushed Connor back to shoot you in the heart.

You didn’t move or breath or anything so Connor continued compressions and rescue breaths. Jason pulled out a second one. This was all he had. His hands shook a little. His little sister was dead. If this didn’t work, you weren’t coming back. Jason stabbed your heart with the second shot and a full second later your body spasmed and you gasped in a breath. Connor let out a sob before grabbing you in his arms. Your breath rattled heavily.

2 days later you woke up in the cave medical bay with blankets on top of you and an IV in your arm. Heart monitors softly beeped normally.

“She’s awake,” you heard Tim say. Footsteps came towards the room and Cassandra came towards your bed.

“How are you?” She asked giving you a glass of water.

“Okay,” you said hoarsely. You winced in pain before drinking a little of the water. It burned and soothed your throat. She looked at the monitors and IV.

“Everything looks expected,” she said and you nodded. You were already tired and wanting to fall asleep again. “I’m glad you are awake. You scared us for a while. You have a visitor.”

You looked up to see Connor standing in the doorway. Despite the pain, you shrunk away from him. The heart monitor beeped angrily and you gasped out a “no” in fear.

“Go,” Cass said, pushing him from the room. Connor’s face crumpled and he left.

“It’s okay,” Cass said pulling you into a hug. Tim suddenly appeared in the doorway. He relaxed upon seeing you okay but shaken up.

“I’ll talk to Kon,” he said. Connor stood by the computer bay with a look of dejection. “Hey, it’s okay. She’s disoriented and needs some time to be okay.”

“It was me. I did it. They cursed me with some spell and I attacked her,” Connor said with his head hung low. He wouldn’t look at Tim.

“You did that?” Jason asked from across the room. Connor had been so distraught that no one had asked him to report from the field.

“Magic. I had no control,” he said.

“Get the fuck out of here,” jason said. “You killed her and if I wasn’t there, she’d be 6 feet under.”

Connor looked away and grabbed his jacket. He roughly shoved it on and left the cave.

“You don’t think he feels bad enough?” Tim asked Jason.

“He can feel bad somewhere else,” Jason answered. “You didn’t see her. She was dead.”

“I know-“

“She’s asleep again,” Cass said interrupting them both. “Connor is also a victim. He couldn’t control.”

Jason sighed and then nodded in agreement.

“It will take time,” Cass answered. “For them both.”

“Perfect timing for you to file paperwork then. You’re very behind,” Bruce said to Cass. She sighed and gave him a pout. “Not a chance. Find a computer.”

[shadowworks]

Compulsion

Pairing: Mafia!Dabi X Reader

Warnings: dubconish themes, flirting with Hawks, blood, murder, blackmail, fingering. NSFW, quirkless AU!

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Alright! This piece is for The Smut Pile Mafia Collab

I have to give my wholehearted thanks to @hisoknen @some-kindofgnome , @pleasantanathema, and @ever-enthralled for reading this over the last couple weeks, and making sure it reads well! I am so happy to have you beautiful souls! Also a special shoutout to Raph for brainstorming with me when I was stuck at the very end. 💕

Edit: This has fanart! Beautiful @maewoahoah created a Mafia!Hawks piece right here and a Mafia!Dabi piece here! She’s very talented! ;)

On this ominous winter evening it begins snowing. 

You readjust your peacoat and step through the frosty glow of the street lamp to your front door. Your muscles ache a little more than usual, your steps a little heavier. It’s been a long and tedious day at work; far less stimulating compared to Toga’s position working for a bootlegger named Tomura. But both jobs pay the rent. You push papers and withhold your scowls towards clients. Now, you want a bath. 

The sound of a muffled radio plays on the other side, and it floods your ears as you walk in with warmth and an iron smell wafting your chilled nose. 

“Folks, I'm goin' down to St. James Infirmary...

Seeeee, my baby there;

She's stretched out on a long, white table

She looks so sweet, so cold, so fair.”

Toga’s playing blues again. It’s a routine she has before the graveyard shift across town. At this time, she’s in the kitchen making something before she goes, but you’re having trouble figuring out what food smells like copper. 

“He-e-e-y,” you call lazily, a sing-songy tone in your voice. 

She doesn’t answer, though you hear the clacking of stiletto heels on wood, which makes you amble down the hall to see what she’s doing. 

“Think you can smuggle some whiskey tonight? I thought we had some, but Keigo probably polished it off last—“

You stop in the doorway. 

There’s a poor bastard lying flat on his back, head twisting too far towards the sink. Ribbons of blood streak down his colorless skin, pouring out from a dark and glossy hole just beneath his jaw. You see it puddle and stain the edges of his hair a sticky red, the only sound besides your heart thudding is the soft thrums from the parlor.

“ When I die please bury me in my high top Stetson hat

Put a twenty dollar gold piece on my watch chain

So the gang'll know I died standing pat.”

You’re in a daze, one where you’re not sure how long you’ve been staring. It doesn’t seem real. Is it real? But it’s not until you hear the sound of heels clicking against the wood floors that you drag your gaze to the noise. 

Toga’s standing near the stove, her features vacant, shoulders slouched, and she’s holding a knife that’s still wet.

What the fuck? 

You want to scream, berate her, seethe what the fuck was she thinking, or if she was thinking for that matter. But the blonde speaks up before you do, with a voice above a whisper. 

“He was going to leave me. Said he was too dangerous.” Toga doesn’t look in your direction, moving to the rim of pooled blood which has stopped spreading out, “I told him I wouldn’t let anyone come between us, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Your jaw goes taut, staring incredulously at her steely face. The lack of emotion gives you a sinking feeling in your stomach.

The man wasn’t a random suit who bled out on your floor, this moron was seeing Toga on and off for months and had been trying to be more present.

Nights spent arriving at your door with flowers and sweets, and driving her to work was becoming a staple in his routine. He preferred staying in Toga’s room if they had the day off, and he always slipped out when the morning frost dusted the grass, a soft bluish hue painting the streets before sunlight. 

But that’s not the problem. See, he was a core member inside the Mafia running the northern side of the city, ‘The League’ they like to call themselves. The only men above this guy was his boss Tomura, and the underboss Dabi. You don’t know the former, but you’ve spent time with the latter.

You’re aware of his sadistic nature that flashes behind those teal eyes, and he doesn’t try to  hide it, either. The sideway glances during a poker match before he fucked someone over , the smile he wore when you asked about the purple bruises on his knuckles. 

So fan-fucking-tastic, the broad has some nerve.

You curl your lip, already shrugging your shoulders from your coat. You toss it over the table and start rolling up your sleeves to the elbows.  

Toga finally turns towards you after catching movement by her side, brows raising confused, “What are you doing?”

“You’re gonna grab his feet and we’re gonna move him onto the rug in the hall.” 

You step in the blood, grabbing him by the rusty black colored jacket and dragging him from the puddle. Of course it leaves drag marks, your heels making tracks alongside, but you can deal with the clean up later. 

Toga hurries over to help, carrying him by the legs and letting you guide the body to the floral rug.

“You don’t want to know what happened?”

You stop. Immediately dropping the dead weight, his blond head lolls off to the side. Your palms sheen with red, but you straighten up and push a beach curl from your cheekbone with the back of your hand.

“Not really. All I want is this fucker out of my house.”

It’s her turn to stare at you incredulously. This is completely out of nowhere for you to be assisting in hiding a dead boyfriend, even if you two are roommates. You’ve only been living together for four months now.

“Toga, I need you to listen, okay?” you say, a bit mockingly, “I can look past the murdering business by pretending you acted in self defense, but if you don’t have the goddamn brains to realize this idiot has friends, then I suggest you don’t stab people!”

Toga flinches slightly at the lilted pitch in your voice, already suggesting panicky, “We can take him to the woods and hide him there?”

“That’ll work.” You don’t think Twice about it.  

Working together, you both hoist him a couple feet onto the rug, refusing to look at his face. You didn’t need to be feeling a pang of guilt. It doesn’t take long for you to roll him towards the front door, as the material wraps around his figure. 

The hardest part is retreating to the car. The moment you push through the door, you see the distance from where you stand and the car parked a little down the sloping street. You both give a hard look to the powdery snow dusting the ground, quiet and enchanting. It would be beautiful...had you not been carrying a corpse.

“Stop being a little bitch and heave!”

“I can’t! You’re making me hold all the weight!”

“He’s off the ground! How the fuck are you holding all the weight?”

“But my arms hurt!”

“Fucking hell, Toga. What if I had stayed at my sister’s tonight? What then?”

“Stop yelling at me! I get it, alright? I shouldn’t have done it in the house!” 

Your bickering toils through the winds, muffled by the falling snow. The burst of cold air is running through your buttoned blouse while crossing to the 1929 Chevrolet causing a shiver to roll down your back. When you reach the car Toga plops the rug down onto the snow first, then you. Your wet fingers feel numb against the metal handle. 

There’s one entrance on each side, which likely will make shimming the body to the backseat  much harder. You pause, looking at the front in thought. 

“I’ll go first,” you say, “when he’s in, you go and grab our coats.”

“Are we burying him?”

“Think the lake’s faster.”

“What if it’s icy? They’ll see the hole if we throw him in.”

You both ponder your options for a little while, this isn’t exactly something you’ve done before...You can’t say the same for Toga, but she seems just as puzzled, almost clueless on how to get rid of her ex. 

Meanwhile, the rolled corpse behind you starts to slip downhill, little by little. The slanting street gives speed and the rug starts to roll.. Red droplets trail behind in its wake. 

You just happen to see it first.

“Toga—Toga, the body! The body!” 

Toga cries out, taking off after the rug as best she can on a frozen sheet. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

The graceful snowfall flutters with pain and chaos.

Toga skids against the fresh ice, feet stumbling under her navy blue dress. She falls to the ground with a hard thud, and you see she isn’t stopping. She keeps going alongside the body, sliding until the two disappear under another parked car. 

You don’t have time to think, a chill strikes up your spine in your panic. 

“Toga!” you call out, taking off after her. Unfortunately you find yourself abruptly on your back, pounding hard on the stones and stealing the breath from your lungs. 

If you could sigh right now you would. Or rather, if you could punch Toga right now you would, as rage twists with a throbbing pain in your chest. Was all this worth having a mobster roommate? The odds were piling against her. You have a mind to push her in the lake when you get there.

Several silent minutes go by with you staring up at the cloudy sky. It’s brighter from the illuminating white snow, and despite the icy powder prickling your flesh, you have no choice but to wait for the ache in your chest to fade. 

“Enjoying the view?” 

You hear a new voice, male, and the suave tone tells you who it is before he treads near. He looks over you with half lidded eyes of honey gold. 

He’s very pretty. The drifting snow flakes above his wheat coloured head manage to enhance this, though the uplifted eyes lined in black, and nicely sharp features are the last thing you want to see. You’re nowhere near ready to start lying out of Toga’s mess. 

“That can’t be too comfy down there,” Keigo says, bending forward with an outstretched hand,“C’mon, upsy-daisy.” 

You take his hand, feeling another leather glove hold your waist and lift you onto your feet. When you settle, he starts brushing the caked snow off your back. Mobster or not, he’s at least a gentleman.

“You alright?” he asks, giving you a once over for any fresh scratches.

You give a slow nod, crossing your arms over your chest. Fear’s got the better of you, and you look anywhere but him., “What are you doing here? I thought you were working tonight.”

“Oh I am! You could say I’m on patrol, need to pick up a few things.” 

Your gaze stills to your left, heart skipping. Keigo’s not alone. Standing nearby, a slim figure dressed in black from head to toe is watching you two lazily. A thread of smoke seeps from his parted lips, clouding a handsome face and spikes of black hair. Keigo keeps talking, but you can’t take your eyes off the ghostly presence you know to be Dabi.

“Unfortunately that includes loverboy. He was supposed to be back hours ago, but we figured he’s still fooling around,” a little smirk tugs at his mouth, suggestively “He’s still inside, right?”

You blink, turning back to face Keigo, “I wouldn’t know, I just got home,” you lie. 

“Look at you! You look like you’re about to freeze to death.” He starts suddenly, swiftly slipping his arms out from his heavy coat, revealing a black three piece with pinstripes, and a brighter crimson tie. In one smooth motion he twirls the long, beige coat over your shoulders, letting it rest over your figure.

“Thank you,” you say, before your eyes catch something. 

Dabi moves towards the clumsy skid marks, head tilting down to the red dots in the snow near his polished shoe. You stiffen.

“You sure you’re okay?” 

Your gaze flashes from Dabi’s retreating back to a politely smiling Keigo, “Yeah, I’m fine! I’m really cold is all.”

“Well, we should get you inside. You know you left your door wide open?” Shit, the door. You forgot about the stupid door—

(Dabi looms across the indents in the snow and follows down the hill like a dark shadow against crystals illuminating bright.)

“Ah yeah, I thought I left my purse in the car. It was just for a second, and then I slipped,” You force a smile. Relax. You need to relax. Keigo doesn’t seem convinced, reading something off in your features.

“Is that right?”

(He gets the edge of the old Ford, and notes the specks of red soak wider here. The spots lead underneath.) 

“I know, it’s pretty foolish. It’s um...It’s a good thing you showed up when you did, or...”

Your eyes drift over Keigo’s shoulder. The underboss starts to crouch low. Your pupils shrink, a new wave of panic tingles the back of your neck. Damn him, why was he so clever? 

“Dabi, wait!” you shout, pushing past Keigo’s shoulder. In your hurry you kick up the snowy crystals, rushing to the taller mobster in his long obsidian coat. Dabi quickly turns, standing up.tall before you hook onto his upper arm like a lover. “I saw an animal go under there that looked hurt. You shouldn’t mess with it.”

A smirk that breaks into a grin spreads on his face, a look of amusement blooming from your look of fright. You want to glare at him, though that could be dangerous. Why does he like seeing you scared?

 “An animal, you say?” he parrots back, adopting the same mocking pitch you gave Toga earlier. He’s not in the least bit on edge, and you really don’t like that. He flicks his teal eyes up to look behind you just then, “Good thing I have the city’s best exterminator right here.”

As if on cue, you hear the crunching boots of Keigo walking to the car. “Give me a break with the dirty work, will ya?”

“What, scared of a little pest?” Dabi taunts back coolly.

 “I’m not too fond of getting my knees wet, actually,” Keigo returns quite dryly, sharp eyes studying the long pattern marks. He places his gloved hands on his thighs and drops himself to a crouch in front of the vehicle.

You desperately hope Toga proves you wrong. Maybe she had the common sense to bail while no one was looking. It’s all you can do at this point, while Keigo dips his head underneath. You don’t realize, but your grip on Dabi’s arm presses tighter into the wool.

Keigo inspects below for a moment. There’s a long pause like a winter evening should be. Silent. Calming. You can almost believe in the soothing little lie. Then Keigo coughs a laugh  that echoes through the street. Bursts of manic giggles grow louder from the mobster, leaving you tilting your head at his pushed back hair, confused.

“There’s a pest, alright! I think I caught something—“

Keigo reaches under, and with an impressively strong yank, Toga’s head pops out in a doe eyed stare. Her arms are wrapped around a bundled rug with a fairly familiar head sticking out. 

“Hey there, Toga!” Keigo exclaims, “When did you become a rat?”

 Dabi tips his head down, drawing the lit cigarette back to his lazy smile. He’s shockingly calm which does nothing to ease your shivering panic. Toga however, seems fine. In fact, she’s moved on to livelier feelings.

“Hey! Does it look like a rat could’ve done this?!” she snaps, shaking the body in her arms. It bangs against the bottom of the car sending loud echoes through the nearly empty street. Specks of blood dribble on the white ground, and a couple more drops spray her cheeks.

You stare up at the clouds, rolling your eyes. Goddamnit Toga.

“Yeah, I guess a rat can’t hold a knife, huh? Ya got me there.” Keigo turns and beams you a smug look, eyes half lidded in an expression that reads, nice try, but you failed.

You scrunch your nose, quietly shooting him back a glare. Asshole might’ve caught you both red handed, but he didn’t have to be so fucking cocky about it. It’s only charming when he has a winning hand at cards. Beside you, Dabi’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, though you don’t have the guts to flash him the same glower. He is second in command after all.   

“Yeah, see? That’s what I thought!” Toga says in victory.

You blink very, very slowly at Toga when she finally meets your vastly unamused gaze,“...Nice work, Toga.” 

It comes suddenly. A fiery warmth ghosts the dip in your waist as Dabi leans in. It’s not unwelcomed, raw and soothing even, but it hardly lasts. His hand curls around Keigo’s coat collar and pulls it off your shoulders. The crisp wind rushes to your exposed arms.

“You got any rat poison on you, Hawks?” Dabi tosses the coat to Keigo. 

He catches it mid air as he rises to stand. “Nah, fresh out. But we have some back at the house.” 

“You want to take care of our rat problem then?”

“Can do, boss man.”

Before you can figure out what they mean–what they have planned for Toga–Dabi’s pristine leather glove presses at the small of your back and directs you toward the pouring light of the open door. “Don’t wait up.”

It’s barely there, but as you shift your eyes to Keigo, his features take on a darkened look toward Dabi.

“Play nice, now,” you hear Keigo say. This time though, the joyous tone is gone. 

A new song hums on the radio when you’re pushed through the threshold, you listen to the richly solemn blues as Dabi closes the door. He turns the lock with a click and pockets the key.

“I forgive you 

'Cause I can't forget you.

You've got me in between the devil and the deep blue sea”

He doesn’t give you a passing glance, instead he turns and strolls down the freshly bare hall. He hasn’t removed his coat, and each room he passes he tilts his head in to search for something, stopping by the parlor. With a twist of a knob, he shuts off the radio.

“Where’d she ice him?” he asks, still not looking at you by the stairwell. 

“In the kitchen.” You return. No point in hiding it now. 

His steps creak the wood as he ambles further down, knowing full well where to go. He’s been here a handful of times; of course, those were happier evenings filled with drunken laughs.

You watch him stand by the doorway, staring at the vibrant mess of a crime scene. He pops the tip of his cigarette in his mouth before slipping from your line of sight. Dabi’s got the key to the door, so it’s not like you can run away—especially with Keigo just outside. It’s too risky to try and you know it, but it does cross your mind. 

Summing up the courage, you decide to follow Dabi with measured steps, “What are you going to do with Toga?” 

When you face the kitchen, Dabi’s near the table where you threw your coat. He has a hand in one of your pockets, and he’s fishing for something inside. It jingles in his grip as he stuffs it into his own pocket. Your car keys. 

“Are you going to kill her?” you try again, a little irked he’s swiping your things left and right. He doesn’t release your coat either, laying it over the crook of his elbow.  

He draws a final inhale from the dying bud, and crosses to the sink to snuff it out. An exhale of smoke blows out from his lips, “Killing her seems like a favor, don’t you think?”

“I thought it was the other way around.”

He turns, flicking teal eyes sheening with energy at you, “That lunatic’s no longer your concern. Right now, you ought to be more worried about yourself.”

Your features go taut, which in turn makes Dabi’s sadistic smirk return.

 “I didn’t help her kill him.”

“No,” he agrees, taking a few strides around the blood to approach you,“but you were willing to stash the stiff.”

“Yeah, for this very reason. I didn’t want you coming after me!”

Dabi draws dangerously close, mere inches apart as he glances down with lidded eyes, the smell of tobacco perfumes from his shirt collar nestled under a violet tie. He crooks his index finger, embellished with a silver ring, ghosting it under your chin. “How’d that turn out for you, babydoll?”

With a ruthless smile, he breaks the fixed stare and rounds you to the hallway. He seems to be making his way towards the parlor again, but the swish of your peacoat in his arm, set you off.

How dare he? You don’t like how he’s walked inside, claiming what’s yours. You might have your life screwed over, but at the very least you want your coat back as some semblance of control.

You stalk after him, picking up pace to aim for his arm. The clacks of your heels are loud, but you currently couldn’t care less about being sneaky, “Give it fucking back. You’re not keeping that!”

You lunge for the black wool, but as your fingers brush the material on his left elbow, Dabi whips the coat, rotating arms. You’re not fast enough, but you try a second reach for his right arm, huffing out a growl at his stealthy reflexes.

“Dabi, I’m serious! You’re such a—”

In a twirling motion his newly free palm shoves at your shoulder, pinning you against the stairwell’s wall. He’s close, so close, the blue flames in his eyes are absurdly intense. 

“That makes two of us. You’ll get this back when I say so.” 

His voice is low, soft lips almost connecting to yours. You tilt your chin up, glaring at him with fearful, tentative eyes. His gaze flashes with mirth, and he huffs a small laugh at you.

“I’ve always liked this about you. That spark inside you.” He muses. The peacoat spills to the floor. Dabi lifts his slender fingers, pushing back a loose curl from your cheek. 

Your stomach flips, as shocks tickle your skin. There’s been subtle flirting between you two before. You just wrote it off as overthinking the moment. Even though he only called you, babydoll, and he sat next to you at gatherings. How he filled your glass with water instead of booze as the nights waned. Now, you feel foolish for denying the little signs. 

“You have a horrible way of showing girls you like ‘em,” you counter back, your voice’s quiet but leveled. 

“Yeah?” he asks. The arm holding your shoulder tightens, while the other lowers to collect your long skirt. He traces his knuckles on the soft flesh of your thigh. As his hand trails up, his eyes remain fixed on your facial features. “Maybe this will help.”

His slim fingers reach the cotton slip, and it’s easy to pull off to the side, exposing the lips of your warmth. He tests the waters, sweeping the tips of his fingers across your folds. Your mouth parts in a breathless hitch in your throat. Dabi parts his own lips drawing near, ‘til his lips touch yours but not quite pressing together yet. His pierced nose bumps yours.

“Now here’s what’s going to happen,” he starts, just before sinking two fingers between your folds, pumping deep and slow inside. “You’ll go upstairs and pack what you need. When you come down—”

He thrusts particularly hard into you, sending a gasping moan to fall from your open mouth. His voice remains calm, a hint of glee can be detected. Fucking bastard.

“—You’ll be leaving with me. You’ll work for me...Live with me…And you’ll do everything I say. You got it, babydoll?”

He adds a third finger, soaking his knuckles deep with your slick. He’s hitting the right spots, the perfectly deep pressure. Your attention turns hazy as wakes of pleasure tighten just below your stomach. Your hips buck against his thrusting hand, yet still, you manage to nod your head. 

Moans flutter from your lips and vibrate onto his smiling one. To heighten the pleasure he begins swirling your wet clit. “Ah, Dabi...Oh god, Dabi—”

He slows his fingers suddenly, which makes you cry out. He pretends to ignore it. “If you try to escape me...I will hunt you down and hurt you in ways that will marr that pretty skin of yours. I’ll make you scream so loud, and no one will be there to save you. Tell me you understand.”

He curls his knuckles, pressing into a rough spot at the top, pumping fiercely against your slippery, muscular walls. You cry out, squeezing at his shirt collar and coat. “Fuck—I understand, I understand! Baby, right there, ah!”

Dabi gives you no mercy. He tugs and twirls the bud of sensitive nerves, swirling with driven circles that clench your walls in wonderous pressure. You’re close, he’s so close to sending you in high bliss. Your moans get heavier, and your clenching more and more and—

He removes his fingers. Another cry of protest sobs from your mouth only to be swallowed by Dabi’s lips on yours. His tongue massages the moans from your breath, his scent of cigarettes and smoke immerse your senses as you drown in the kiss.

He slowly breaks apart with a wet sound, looking deeply in your lust-glossed eyes. His voice is low and arousingly husky. “Now get your things.”

Before you know it, Dabi pulls away from your shoulders, and turns for the parlor. You try catching your breath, watching his slim, muscular back...Did that happen? Did he rob you of everything? Your home, your life, your orgasm?

Eventually, with light steps you do as you’re told, and turn to climb up the stairs. What choice do you have? He has your life in the palm of his hand. And right before you make it to the top, your hand drawn on the railing, the spinning clicks of your house phone perk your ear.  

A long pause. Then finally, Dabi’s rich voice speaks up from the parlor,

“Hey, I’ll be needing a few guys at Togas...Yeah, we found him….Toga did him in pretty good...No, we’ll need the good bleach for cleanup.”

***

P.S, this might be a mini series 👀

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

A rogue Druid’s “please join us” speech to Merlin triggers a few things:

Gwaine tries to commit regicide, Leon confronts his (understandable) fear of Dragons, and Merlin has a full on mental breakdown.

The knights are left to pick up the pieces and all of them consider following Gwaine’s lead.

ANGSTY ANGSTY 

TW: Blood, death, nightmares. Physical and verbal abuse. A very brief implication of potential suicide/self harm.

Everyone notices the sudden changes within the group, it would be hard not to notice.

No one has any clue what happened though.

One day, everything is fine. If they think back, they realise Merlin had seemed a little... nervous? Maybe? But other than that, everything was fine, normal.

But the next day? From then until now, a month later? Everything was different.

Arthur seemed much angrier. He flew off the handle over the smallest mistakes, he worked the knights so hard in training that at least three of them had to go to Gaius for treatment everyday, and he didn’t seem like he planned on letting up any time soon. He snapped at everyone, even Gwen and Gaius, which was unheard of.

Merlin seemed... quieter. The knights, Gwen, and Gaius barely saw him, but when they did, he flinched at even the slightest noise; his eyes constantly darted around, looking for a way to escape, and he wouldn’t let anyone touch him.

They were worried, but Arthur was so constantly furious that no one dared bring it up with him, and the one time they tried to ask Merlin, he came up with some ridiculous excuse and ran away. They thought they had barely seen him before, but after that they didn’t see him at all for at least four days.

They also noticed how both of their worrying moods seemed ten times worse when they were with each other. Even just being in the same room, made Arthur angrier, and Merlin... they didn’t want to think it but... more scared.

After three weeks of this, they gathered together, and put into place their emergency plan. Leon would speak directly to Arthur, and Lancelot would speak directly to Merlin.

Of all of them, they were the most trusted by each target, and were the most likely to get answers, and the least likely to get a bad reaction if answers were refused.

They were... pretty wrong. Merlin reacted in the same way as he had to the group two and a half weeks ago. Which is odd, because he normally tells Lancelot everything, and not only did he not tell him, he lied and came up with excuses.

Leon was much worse for wear. He showed up a while after Lancelot, pale and miserable. Arthur had just yelled at him a bunch and assigned him extra patrols.

A few days later, they were all still struggling with what to do when Arthur informed them of a quest that was to be undertaken. They were... nervous, to say the least. Going on any sort of dangerous trip with Arthur in this state was bound to go badly, but they could hardly refuse, and they definitely couldn’t bring up the issue again.

So they resigned themselves to it. Gwen wished them luck, and made sure to give Merlin an extra tight hug before they left, and Gaius slipped a few extra medical supplies in each of the knights packs, just in case.

Apparently, patrols of Camelot Knights kept going missing. Whole groups of soldiers, in one very specific area near the border, were just not coming back.

Arthur could hardly justify sending more patrols out, so despite his foul mood, and his desperation to stay away from everyone, he took himself, his five best knights, and his manservant.

Elyan could’ve sworn he heard Arthur mutter something along the lines of “As if I’d leave you here unsupervised.”, to Merlin, the tone far less jesting that it might’ve been a month ago, but he kept it to himself. They were travelling and camping together, there would hardly be an opportunity to share without Arthur and Merlin there.

And like they were all expecting, the trip was hell.

Awkward silences that not even Gwaine could fill, Merlin looking close to tears the whole time, and Arthur constantly looking like he’s considering extreme violence.

Merlin even rides at the back of the group (unheard of), doesn’t complain even once about anything (even more unheard of), and the few times he does speak, he addresses all of them by their titles (down-right panic inducing).

They, of course, realise it had been a trap far too late, and before they even had time to shout and draw their swords, the camp fades around them.

~

When they wake an indiscernible amount of time later, they have been stripped of armour and weapons, and have been shackled.

They appear to be in a circular, one-room hut, the knights spaced equally and chained to the wall. Their cloaks remain, but any chainmail or armour they had been equipped with was gone, leaving them in the thin clothes they wore underneath, completely unprotected.

Merlin stood in the middle of the room, looking very confused. Once he noticed the knights stirring, he tried to take a step towards them, but frowned when he realised he couldn’t get within a arm’s reach of them.

Once the knights came around fully, they realised that whilst Merlin couldn’t move all that much, they couldn’t speak.

Arthur looks to Merlin with fury written all over his face, and pulls violently on his chains. Merlin flinches back and gasps out:

“This has nothing to do with me, I swear!”

Before the rest of the knights have time to change their expressions to one of confusion, a man walks through the door. Everyone’s gazes turn to him quickly, and they take in his appearance.

He looked like a Druid... but not quite right, like he hadn’t actually been to a camp in a while. He wore neutral colours, browns and greens, but despite his calm demeanour and gentle face, he looked a little crazed.

Where Druids stand calmly and walk softly, this man rushed in and fiddled with his hands, eyes darting around the room at everyone’s faces.

When Merlin goes to demand he introduce himself, the Druid holds a hand up, silencing him (no magic, just a gesture), and begins to speak:

“Who I am, does not matter. But I do know who you are, Emrys. I shall explain it your friends first, so they don’t get too lost.-”

The Druid smiles sadly, and turns to the knights, all of whom (apart from Lancelot) stare on in confusion at the melancholy resignation on the Druid’s face, and the dread on Merlin’s. Still unable to speak, and with very limited movement, they reluctantly resign themselves to listening to whatever speech the villain of the week had come up with.

“-Emrys has been being seen in prophetic visions for centuries. Whilst Uther Pendragon was destined to start the purge, Emrys, or as you know him: Merlin, is destined to stop it. He is said to be the most powerful Warlock to ever walk the earth, past present and future. He can bend the very elements of the world, bring down armies, turn cities to ash with a flick of his wrist. But destiny also foretold of The Once and Future King. Most have accepted that Arthur Pendragon, is said king.-”

Merlin was stiff but panicky during the Druid’s explanation, having realised that for whatever reason, he didn’t have access to his magic right now.

He could feel it buzzing under his skin, but every time he tried to pull it forward, it abandoned him, burrowing deep into his soul and hiding.

Merlin was tense and angry, angry that the chance to tell his friends the truth himself had been taken away, but his statue-like stillness is broken as he frowns and flinches slightly at the thinly veiled disgust in the sorcerer’s voice as he says Arthur’s name.

The Knights look confused, and very much shocked, their gazes flickering between the Druid and Merlin, but he refuses to meet their eyes.

“-Together, Emrys and the Forever King are destined to bring harmony and peace to the world, to restore magic’s place alongside the non magic, to inspire compassion, and stop the unjust genocide that Uther started.-”

Arthur and Leon shuffle uncomfortably at the mention of the late King and his sins, but are more focused on the other shocking revelations. The other knights (again, bar Lancelot, who is staring at Merlin apologetically) seem invested in the story, though they’re clearly confused.

Arthur was made aware of Merlin’s magic a few weeks ago, but despite Merlin’s choice to tell him willingly, he had reacted badly, and in his rage, hadn’t allowed Merlin to explain himself. The other knights were, of course, unaware of this, though they quickly put two and two together.

Despite Merlin’s best efforts, Arthur had stayed in the dark about the whole Emrys-prophecy-destiny thing.

The Druid gives each knight a short assessing gaze, seemingly to make sure they were paying attention.

He turns his attention back to Merlin, who is trying very hard to keep his expression blank (and failing) as he listens:

-”And how long have you waited, my friend, for Arthur to play his part in destiny. Ten years, of having the prophecies shoved down your throat by idealists, being told that you have no choice but to serve a man who would see your head on a spike should he know who you truly are. Ten years in the service of a man who has caused you nothing but pain, given you nothing but nightmares.-”

Merlin flinches and looks away. Every magic user in, or even near Camelot shares the same nightmares, all caused by the Pendragon Reign. There’s no need for a discussion about it, no need for a denial. 

“-His father ripped your family apart. He himself stood at the grave of your best friend and told you he was evil, he himself killed the woman you loved-”

Arthur frowns in confusion at this. Merlin had never been in love. But he quickly doubts himself when he hears Merlin gasp quietly, and looks to him to see a tear slip down his cheek. 

Fury flashes quickly across Lancelot’s face, obviously knowing the story, but he covers it quickly, and no one is the wiser to the anger slowly growing in his chest at what this so-called Druid was putting his friend through.

The Druid speaks his next words quietly, though still loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, as he lifts a soft hand and gently wipes away Merlin’s tear:

“-I know what you see when you close your eyes. I know why you are so exhausted. But do they? Have you told them?-”

The Druid nods his head in the direction of the knights, but doesn’t break eye contact with Merlin, who sniffles slightly before looking to the floor in shame. 

“-Of the smoke and flames that you choke on when you sleep? You dream of pyres built just for you, built by the people you care most about. Even when you are awake, every second you have your eyes closed, every time you blink, you are forced to picture your so-called King with a sword at your throat, as if the scene were painted onto the back of your eyelids.-”

His voice had risen as he spoke and he had begun to pace, anger growing at the pain his Lord had gone through. He practically spits the word “King”, like just saying it disgusts him. 

Merlin remains quiet, but he has a steady stream of tears down his face as he looks back at the Druid with despair. The knights watch on in anguish as they see the way he is suffering. 

Arthur stops feeling angry and confused, and starts to feel a little guilty. Not that he would let it show; he stares on blankly.

Everyone wanted desperately to believe that the Druid was lying, manipulating them, that Merlin would deny it. But he didn’t. And that told them all they needed to know.

The Druid stopped his pacing, coming to a stand still in front of Merlin and cupping one of his cheeks softly with his hand. The knights pretend not to see Merlin lean into it slightly as his tears continue to fall.

The Druid begins again, speaking softly once more:

“-Were those fears unfounded? Were those nightmares irrational? I see the terror in your eyes. I see how petrified of your King you are.-”

Merlin lets out a shaky breath and glances quickly to Arthur, before looking back at the man in front of him.

The King is taken aback, and the knights are furious at the flash of fear on Merlin’s face when his gaze had momentarily met Arthur’s.

“-What did he do, when he found out? When you bared your soul and gave him nothing but honesty, and undeserved apologies. What did he do?-”

Merlin lets out his first audible sob, and the Knights pull at their chains slightly, desperate to comfort their friend. Arthur slumps back, remembering his actions as if they were mere hours ago.

One of Merlin’s hands lifted to cover his mouth as he chokes back a second sob, but the other lifts subconsciously to tug at the scarf around his neck.

The Druid lets a single tear escape his eye as he waves his hand gently, the scarf disappearing with the gentle golden glow of his eyes.

Merlin seems too distraught to notice; and moves both hands to clamp tightly over his mouth as tears stream down his face. His shoulders hunch, but not enough for any of the knights to miss what the Druid had clearly been trying to expose; a thin, barely healed scar along the base of his throat. As if a sword had been pressed there.

The Druid’s eyes lose focus slightly and he frowns as he ghosts a finger over the scar, seemingly asking the next question to himself:

“-Nightmares on the back of your eyelids, or visions of the future, hmm?-”

His eyes refocus, and he cards a hand through Merlin’s hair, trying to calm the man’s heartache as the knights stare on in horror. 

Arthur resists the urge to look towards his knights, not wanting to see the disgusted glares he knows they’re sending his way.

The Druid pauses for a moment in his speech, waiting for Merlin to calm slightly before he quietly continued:

“-And what has he done since then? Has he allowed explanation? Has he seen the error of his ways and tried to understand? Or has he called you a liar, and a traitor. Has he called you a monster, whilst demanding that you continue to serve him?-”

Merlin’s breathing grows deeper as he struggles to control his sobs. He lowers his hands to be clenched at his sides, shaking, as the Druid softly places his hands on his shoulders.

His next words are spoken even quieter, though the knights can still hear him and the deadly anger that’s barely concealed in the man’s tone:

“-Has he laid hands on you, and called you a beast, while you cowered in fear, knowing that if you defended yourself he would see himself proven right?-”

Merlin let’s out loud, gasping sobs once more as the Druid’s hands travel softly down, from his shoulders to his wrists. There, he looks down, sorrow on his face as he carefully lifts Merlin’s sleeves, bunching them around his elbows.

The knights decide then and there they are going to protect Merlin no matter what, no matter from whom, as they each see the handprint shaped bruises littering Merlin’s arms.

“-He has hurt you, over and over and over-”

As he speaks, the Druid hovers his hands over the bruises, his eyes glowing softly golden as they heal.

“-And you despair, believing yourself worthless-”

Merlin flinches, and his sobbing grows more intense as his face is taken in soft hands.

“-waiting on a Golden Age that he refuses to bring. He is cruel, and unjust, how many more times must he hurt you? How many more of our people will the Pendragon line slaughter, out of misguided hatred? How much more sleep must you lose? How many more nightmares must you endure? You have stood loyally by his side for a decade, and had to stand and watch as he continued his father’s legacy, forced to believe it was destiny.-”

The Druid says “destiny” as if he hates the taste of the word in his mouth, the bloodshed of the past almost thirty years clearly having made him lose faith in the prophecies.

Merlin’s breathing has calmed slightly, and the knights aren’t sure whether to be relieved or frightened, as the Druid desperately continues, clutching Merlin’s hands in his own:

“-Too many lives have been lost, too much innocent blood spilt. Haven’t you yourself been forced to kill your own people to protect this False King from the consequences of his own actions?-”

The knights think too soon as Merlin’s breathing and sobs grow erratic once more. The manservant almost falls to the floor, his eyes clenched desperately shut, and only the Druids hands on his shoulders keeping him upright:

“-I was young, and naïve once. I too, believed in Arthur Pendragon, I believed in the prophecies, I believed he would a great king and a good man-”

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s as he gently says:

“-but he is not. He has failed you, and failed our people.-”

The Druid steps back, but still holds Merlin’s shoulder tightly as he gives him a pleading look.

The knights know what’s coming before it is said, and with the anguish and desperation and grief on their friend’s face? After they learned what their benevolent King had done? Well... they wouldn’t have blamed Merlin for saying yes.

“-I ask you to join me, Emrys. I know it’s difficult, to give up on a man you gave so much of yourself to, but there is too much Uther in him. It’s time, and you know this, to rewrite destiny. Dig your own path, liberate your own people, bring magic and compassion and harmony back to the world yourself.-”

Merlin, though distraught, still looks doubtful, and the knights hold their breath as the Druid continues, becoming more and more furious at their inability to speak. 

All of them have tears in their eyes, if not falling already, even Arthur, though he has remained still and blank through the tears.

“-I know the flames you fear, the sword’s edge, the gallows’ drop, the axe’s fall. Do not let our kin continue to fear those things, do not stand by, waiting for the Pendragon tyrant to change, and allowing sacrifices to be made in the mean time.-”

Merlin’s sobbing begins again, and the Druid kisses him softly on the forehead before kneeling to the floor, gripping Merlin’s hands and looking up at him desperately:

"-You are Emrys, Lord of the Druids, and Conduit for all magic of this world. Not some servant that an entitled brat can toss around and treat lesser than the dirt he walks on. You are my King, our King. Not him.-”

He stands again and grips Merlin’s arms tightly, most likely leaving more bruises in place of the ones he had healed.

Merlin doesn’t notice the pain, but shakes his head stutteringly, still crying.

“-Do not let your people lose you to Arthur, as Arthur lost himself to Uther. To give up on him is painful, but the screams of your kin, burning for their gifts, echoing in your skull day and night?-”

The Druid’s hands move up to grip the sides of Merlin’s head, and he shakes him ever so slightly, his tone frantic and pleading:

“-That is worse. That is pain he will never understand, and certainly never care for. Join me, please my Lord I beg you, for our people.”

One of the Druid’s hands slides lower, to softly cup Merlin’s cheek again, but the other drops entirely.

The knights have never resented being magically gagged more than in this moment. They could do nothing but watch on in horror as the man summons a dagger behind his back.

The Druid is clearly waiting on his response, and Merlin is too distraught to notice the consequences of a wrong answer, tears flowing quickly down his face and ugly sobs forcing their way out of his throat.

Arthur watches in terror, knowing that this was his fault, that every shitty, selfish decision he had ever made had to led to this point. And the knights knew it too.

All they can do is pray to every deity they know the name of, that Arthur has done enough damage for Merlin to say yes. And oh, what a terrible thing to pray for.

The Druid softly strokes Merlin’s cheekbone with his thumb as the Warlock takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He looks up, meeting the gaze of the man opposite him before croaking:

“I... I can’t. Arthur is a good man, I have faith that he will-”

Before he can finish his sentence, the dagger is thrust up into his chest, his words stuttering to a stop and his red-rimmed eyes growing wide at the sudden, agonising pain spreading throughout his body.

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights pulling roughly at their chains, but he pays them no mind as blood gurgles up his throat and he frowns, struggling to hear what the Druid was whispering in his ear:

“Then you have forsaken your people, and so I shall forsake you. Traitor.”

With that, Merlin is dropped roughly to the floor, dagger still imbedded in his chest as he lands on his side. Blood spills from both his mouth and the wound, eyes unfocused but heavy as the tears continue to overflow.

The knights are silently screaming, thrashing against their chains as their friend chokes, but Merlin ignores them in favour of smiling gently at the soft feeling of nothing, growing outwards from his chest.

He frowns once more, as though remembering something, and his eyes go glassy as two words escape from his mouth, barely a whisper:

“I’m... sorry...”

An apology to whom, no one knows, but with those last words his body goes completely still, the pool of blood still expanding beneath him, and his eyes unseeingly staring just to the left of The King.

No one in the room can tear their eyes from Merlin’s pale corpse, face now a mess of tears and blood.

The Druid looks down at him with an odd mix of contempt, and genuine sorrow. He had obviously waited long enough that his resentment of Arthur had bled into his feelings for his so-called saviour, but still grieved for what could have been.

The Knights look at him in horror, all understanding that they had never been lucky, they had just had Merlin. He had never asked for thanks, or recognition, or reward. He had kept them all safe, at great expense to himself, and now he was dead.

Lancelot seems the... calmest, though he still cries like the rest of them. He had, in theory, known of the pain Merlin was in, but had he known it was plaguing him to this extent... well perhaps he wouldn’t have been so loyal to Arthur.

Arthur himself stares at Merlin with nothing but terror and agonising grief. He had done this. If he had just let Merlin explain, if he had just given him five minutes, instead of bruises and nightmares and fear, then he would still be alive. 

If he hadn’t been so selfish and cruel, perhaps hundreds of people, just like Merlin, just as scared and innocent as Merlin, would also be alive. 

Merlin had spent his entire time in Camelot trying to convince Arthur that he wasn’t his father... and Arthur had gone and proven him wrong at every turn. And even then Merlin still had faith, still called him a good man.

The silencing spell still has hold over the knights, so they cry and scream and thrash soundlessly as the Druid finally rips his gaze from the body at his feet.

He steps carefully around Merlin to stand in front of Arthur. The sorrow clears from his face, leaving only contempt and rage left to be directed at the man in front of him. Arthur does not look up, keeping his tear stained face focused on the floor, even as the Druid begins to speak:

“You see what you have done, Arthur Pendragon? You think magic is the thing that corrupts, but it is not. It is you. Emrys was meant to be a saviour, a God, a guiding light to help our people to safety, but you tainted him, reduced him to nothing more than a sad, scared boy, and then reduced him further, to a corpse. My hands are clean of blood Pendragon, but yours?? Oh, yours are drenched in it.”

Arthur slowly lifts his distraught gaze to the Druid, but quickly widens his eyes at what he sees.

Merlin stands behind the Druid, eyes glowing golden, tears once more streaming down his face as he grips the handle of the dagger, still buried in his chest.

The bloodstains grow even larger as he grimaces slightly and pulls it free, before wordlessly forcing it through the Druid’s back.

The man lets out a sudden gasp, and looks down to see just the tip of the blade poking out where his heart should be. He gargles something, words that no one can make out, before Merlin pulls the dagger out again, and his body crumples to the floor.

The knights and Arthur can feel the silencing spell release them, but none of them make even a noise as they stare in shock at their tormented, but very much alive, friend.

Merlin drops the dagger from his hand and it lands with a splash in the mixing puddles of blood, before he himself falls harshly to his knees.

The others finally break out of their stupor, once again pulling towards their friend. Their cries and shouts of his name can be heard by everyone but him as he leans forward, placing his forehead against that of the lifeless Druid.

His cries grow erratic again as he whispers apology after apology, and every heart breaks even more at the sight before them.

They know why he apologises, they know why he grieves, even over a man who had tried to... had succeeded in killing him. The death of yet another of his own kind who was sick of waiting, who was rightfully angry, was not something to be celebrated.

They had thought, at the beginning of this, that they would get through whatever the Druid threw at them, they always did. But this, the brokenness of one of their dearest friends, was not something that looks fixable.

Merlin finally sits up again and he sobs louder, still deaf and blind to those around him. Lancelot has just enough time to yell at the others to cover their eyes, as a gut-wrenching scream escapes the Warlock.

They’re almost blinded, even with their eyes tightly shut and their arms thrown up. The scream is the loudest, and most anguished they’ve ever heard, and the force in which Merlin releases his magic completely eviscerates the hut they had been chained in.

Each of them is thrown violently backwards, and their chains crumble to the floor with the rest of the building as they try to find purchase on the ground. None of them are hurt too badly, and they’re grateful for the fact that even in this state, Merlin’s magic seems incapable of really causing them any damage.

The scream ends, and the knights look up to see Merlin sat in the middle of the crater he had created, staring blankly into the middle distance. Tears still stream down his face, but he doesn’t move and he makes no sound, just kneels there with his blood soaked hands on his lap, palms towards the sky.

It takes a few moments for the knights to regain their senses, but once they do, all hell breaks loose.

Gwaine immediately gets to his feet and makes a rush towards Arthur, fully intending on throttling him, screaming obscenities as he went, but Percival and Elyan jump forward, grabbing an arm each and dragging him away as he curses the King and the Sky and the Gods.

As much as Percival and Elyan were not impartial to killing Arthur right now, Merlin was the priority, and as much as he may have deserved it, Merlin would never forgive them if they hurt the King.

Arthur seems to be unaware of the attempt on his life made by one of his most trusted knights, and just stares blankly at an equally blank Merlin.

Lancelot and Leon make a bee-line for the Warlock, but stop just short of touching him, not knowing how he would react. 

Leon nods gently at Lancelot, clearly having picked up that this knight had already known at least part of the story. Lancelot returns his nod, before moving forward slowly. The body of the Druid lays untouched at Merlin’s knees, and the knight removes his cloak, laying it over him, before reaching a slow hand towards Merlin’s shoulder.

He finally makes contact after a little hesitation, whispering his name as gently and as comfortingly as he is able with tears still leaking from his eyes.

Merlin doesn’t react at all to Lancelot’s touch, not even when he takes his bloody hand, or shakes his shoulder slightly; just sits and stares and cries.

Leon gulps before reaching forward himself. He grabs the dagger from besides Merlin and tosses it behind him (he didn’t like to think about that action too much. He has no idea what state his friend is in right now, best to not have any sharp instruments within his reach when he came to.) before lifting his hand to wipe away the man’s tears.

Arthur stares upon all of this in horror from his position sprawled on the floor a few metres away.

Elyan and Percival have just about managed to calm Gwaine, and they begin making their way to Leon, Lancelot, and Merlin, but before they get even halfway there, Arthur finally speaks.

His voice breaks, and is barely audible, but everyone hears him nonetheless as he murmurs:

“I did this...”

Gwaine makes another run at him, regaining his anger, and Percival and Elyan just about manage to grab him before he commits regicide.

Lancelot and Leon look up at him sharply, but when Lancelot lowers his gaze and continues to try and rouse Merlin, Leon holds the King’s gaze, and says strongly:

“Yes. Yes you did, My Lord.”

Arthur’s face crumbles even more, and Leon glares at him with venom for a few more seconds, before giving Lancelot a soft pat on the back, and walking towards the other three.

He mumbles a few harsh things that only Gwaine can hear, who responds at first with more anger, but then resignation. The First Knight gives the man a pat on the back and nods knowingly at Elyan and Percival. No one, not even Gwaine, pretends to miss the meaning of “be ready to catch him again” in the gesture.

Arthur stays in his position on the floor as the four of them walk softly towards Merlin and Lancelot, but before they get there, everyone’s gazes are drawn to the shadow in the sky, getting closer and closer.

It moves with an alarming place, and their anger at Arthur is momentarily forgotten as he scrambles up and screams:

“DRAGON!!”

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival and Arthur rush forward to stand between the beast and the other three. They have no armour or weapons, but like hell were they just going to let it get to them.

Lancelot looks up to see the white, horse sized beast land heavily in front of The King, his eyes widen and he jumps up, rushing forward to push between the others.

Leon moves to hold a still unresponsive Merlin behind his back protectively, but frowns in confusion when Lancelot yells at Arthur (who had been about to run at the beast):

“NO! No don’t hurt her! She’s Merlin’s, don’t hurt her!”

Everyone looks at him in confusion and fear as he slowly approaches the Dragon, she had been growling lowly at first, but seemed to perk up when she saw Lancelot.

Lancelot gives her a small smile, and holds his hand out, allowing her to come to him, before quietly saying:

“I’ve never been more glad to see you, Aithusa. Merlin is over here.”

He turns back towards the others, and calmly, but forcefully says:

“Move. She needs to see him.”

Gwaine nods after a moment, trusting Lancelot, and moves out of the way. Arthur goes to argue, but Elyan and Percival roughly shove him to the side, clearing a path to Merlin and Leon for Lancelot and the new, slightly terrifying, arrival.

Leon looks up fearfully, still in front of Merlin protectively. He stares at the Dragon for a few moments, breathing deeply, before looking up at Lancelot. Lancelot gives him a weak smile, and a nod before saying quietly:

“He’s a Dragon-Lord. She can help him, it’s ok.”

Leon gulps, before nodding, and stepping out of the way. He doesn’t move too far, obviously still affected by his last encounter with a Dragon, and watches with unconcealed suspicion as Aithusa prances around Lancelot at his nod.

The others crowd closer as well, looking on in confusion, awe, suspicion, as Aithusa slowly approaches Merlin.

She lays down at his side, gently pressing her head onto Merlin’s hands, still in his lap. Her mouth opens and Leon gasps as she blows a gentle mist up into his face. Merlin’s back straightens and the knights can see his eyes come back into focus as he blinks.

They all stare with bated breath as he gulps, and begins to notice his surroundings; looking in fear at the crater around him.

Merlin is broken from his growing panic as Aithusa chirps softly from his lap, and his head whips down, only now noticing her.

The knights let out a collective breath as he smiles, very slightly and very briefly, but still; after what they had just seen him go through they would take anything. He leans his head down, and wraps his arms around the creature. She chirps once again, louder this time, as she uses her tail to push away the forgotten Druid’s corpse. 

She curls her body around Merlin protectively, and he collapses even further into the semi-embrace she’s giving him. The knights smile slightly, relieved that Merlin seems responsive, and safe, before they take slow steps towards the two of them.

She whips her head up quickly and growls at them, digging her front claws into the ground. They take in sudden breaths and stop moving, wary, but she stops growling when she looks to Lancelot.

The others stare on in shock and confusion as she tilts her head slightly, and Lancelot nods as he quietly says:

“They’re friends, it’s ok.”

The creature seems to nod, and the others follow behind Lancelot as he begins moving towards Merlin again.

He crouches down, and gives Aithusa a well-received scratch on the chin, before he gently places a hand between Merlin’s shoulder-blades.

Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and finally Leon follow suit, sitting carefully next to the Dragon, but unlike Lancelot, they don’t touch her, or Merlin. She may seem safe and loving and on their side, but she was still a Dragon.

Arthur moves a little slower, not sure if he’s welcome (he’s not) but when he gets within five feet of the group huddled on the floor, Aithusa lifts her head and growls again.

Elyan and Percival are shocked at the sudden movement, but Gwaine smirks, and Leon nods his head approvingly (though he’s still understandably... nervous). Lancelot looks back at a shocked and still tear-stricken Arthur, and speaks. His voice is quiet, but his tone is vicious:

“They have a mental link; she sees what he sees. It might be best, Your Majesty, for you to stay away.”

He doesn’t bother to watch Arthur’s reaction; he turns back and begins carding a soft hand through Merlin’s hair. He flinches only slightly before relaxing under the soft ministrations, and Aithusa gives Lancelot an affectionate lick on the arm.

The other knights do see the way that Arthur flinches, before he gives a shaky nod and takes a few steps back. He goes to say something, but the tears in his eyes overflow, and he turns to walk away.

Gwaine’s smirk grows slightly before he drops it entirely and turns back to the others, no longer caring what Arthur got up to. He is the first of the knights, other than Lancelot, to be brave enough to reach a hand forward and stroke Aithusa gently.

Elyan and Percival hesitatingly follow his lead, and Aithusa chirps happily at the attention. Leon’s gaze follows Arthur as he walks towards the horses.

They were far away, well out of the way of Merlin’s blast, but even with the distance Leon could see they were shaken. Thankfully they had been tied to the trees, otherwise he’s certain they would have bolted.

Leon finds it only slightly surprising that he feels no sympathy for the King. There’s only so much you can forgive a man for. When Arthur finally reaches the horses and begins untacking them, he looks away, back to Aithusa and Merlin.

Everyone can tell that Camelot’s First Knight is still rather shaken at the presence of the Dragon, but when Merlin looks up slightly to see him still sat there, unwilling to leave him, his heart swells a little.

Leon meets his gaze and gulps, but returns Merlin’s shaky smile.

The other knights smile as well, glad that Merlin was feeling at least a little better, and Percival speaks quietly, not wanting to spook him (or the Dragon):

“Hey, there’s our lucky charm.”

The other knights give him questioning looks but Merlin just chuckles slightly, before sitting up properly, and focusing his attention on running his fingers over Aithusa’s scales, picking out grass and mud.

Percival looks indignant before replying, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world:

“What? You honestly thought that tree branches only fell if there was a fight happening, and then only fell on the enemies?? The rock-falls? The fires even when it was pouring with rain?? The miraculous solutions to end-of-the-world type problems?? Come on, guys.”

The others look taken aback at that, but Lancelot just smiles knowingly. They all look to Merlin, who has managed to wipe the blood from his face with his sleeve, and he just shrugs slightly.

The rest of them, bar Leon, let out small huffs of laughter, and continue to stroke Aithusa, knowing that Merlin almost certainly isn’t ready for an actual conversation yet.

Merlin looks at Leon’s pale form assessingly, before a look of realisation crosses his face. The knight is tense, and staring at Aithusa’s sharp teeth with worry, but his gaze is quickly drawn to Merlin when he reaches a shaky hand towards him.

Merlin gives him an understanding smile, and crooks his fingers, encouraging the curly-haired knight to take his hand. Leon does so, and his breath hitches as Merlin lowers their intertwined hand to rest on the top of Aithusa’s head.

Leon lets out a slow breath as he feels Elyan’s supportive hand on his back, but relaxes fully when he sees the sparkle in Merlin’s eyes. Anything to make their Warlock happy in this moment. And forever, probably.

Gwaine looks at Leon out of the corner of his eye, and says lowly:

“I’m fairly certain I’m going to try and kill him if I look at him again, so what’s the King up to?”

Merlin tenses slightly, but Leon squeezes his hand and he relaxes again. Lancelot raises and eyebrow and before Leon can reply, he says:

“What, no princess?”

Gwaine narrows his eyes before gruffly saying:

“Princess was an affectionate nickname, and I’m not feeling all that affectionate towards him right now.”

The others nod knowingly, turning their attention back to Merlin and Aithusa. Leon leaves his hand in Merlin’s, but looks at Gwaine before saying lowly:

“He went to deal with the horses. Now we know we no longer need a quick get-away, they need untacking and feeding and watering. They were pretty spooked by... they were pretty spooked.”

Leon looks back at Merlin when his hand gets squeezed, to see him frowning slightly. Leon catches his eye and gives him a small smile, but Merlin just gets teary-eyed again, before sniffing and muttering:

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to I just... I’m sorry.”

Only a single tear has time to fall before Lancelot has his hand on Merlin’s shoulder again (comfortingly), and Elyan has his hand on Gwaine’s shoulder (forcefully). Leon shakes his head softly, and responds in a gentle voice:

“You don’t have anything to apologise for Merlin, we are the ones who should be sorry, for not being able to protect you.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and he goes to retort, but Gwaine beats him to it, obviously trying to keep the anger out of his voice:

“From the so-called Druid and from him. We should have done better.”

Leon can feel Merlin’s hand begin to shake, so he squeezes it once more as Merlin shakes his head and speaks, his voice sounding stronger already:

“It’s not his fault. He was just shaken and scared and I should have-”

Gwaine clenches his jaw, struggling to keep control of his rage, but Elyan grips his shoulder tighter in warning, and replies in his stead, interrupting Merlin:

“There’s no excuse Merlin. All of us have been attacked by magic, but equally, all of us have been attacked by swords. I mean look at Leon, giving Dragons a second chance after what happened. I would perhaps understand brief anger, but there is no way to justify laying his hands on you in such a way that leaves bruises, and certainly no justification for putting a blade to your throat.”

Merlin frowns, and looks like he wants to argue, but once again, a knight beats him to it, Lancelot this time:

“No, Merls. We know how much he means to you. But what he did was wrong, there’s no rationalisation. We all know that you’ve already forgiven him, and that’s why we can’t yet. Probably not for a while.”

Merlin sighs, looking pained, and Leon uses his other hand to tilt his chin up:

“Not to say that we won’t ever forgive him. But someone has to be angry at him for what he’s done, and Lord knows you aren’t gonna do it. Consider us your stand-ins.”

Merlin smiles slightly, and Leon considers that a win, returning the smile and nodding slightly to himself, before looking back down at the Dragon, now seemingly asleep, and purring, on Merlin’s lap.

Elyan releases the death grip on Gwaine’s shoulder, when the now much calmer knight, with a smile on his face, says:

“So... you have a Dragon??”

Merlin chuckles fondly, before looking to him and saying quietly:

“Yeah. Her name is Aithusa. I’m surprised she came alone, Kilgharrah usually doesn’t like it when she runs off.”

Lancelot winces slightly as the other knights look shocked, before Percival says:

“Kil-what-now? There’s another one??”

Merlin grimaces slightly, before looking to Leon worriedly and tightening the grip on his hand:

“Uhh... yeah. Kilgharrah is the name of the Dragon that... attacked Camelot a few years ago.-”

Leon straightens his back and gulps, but doesn’t remove his hand from Merlin’s, nodding at him to continue:

“-I didn’t have control over him until right at the end. I told him to leave and never come back, unless I called him-”

Lancelot makes a noise of realisation as he nods, and interrupts Merlin:

“That’s probably why Aithusa came alone. You didn’t call for her, and technically we’re still within Camelot’s borders. He couldn’t come even if he wanted to. Poor sod is probably clomping around at the edge of the border freaking out.”

Merlin looks to Lancelot and nods, satisfied to feel Leon relax a bit, before looking back to the First Knight apologetically:

“-He does feel really bad at that. He just wanted to get back at Uther for the whole... genocide thing I guess. But that’s no excuse. I just didn’t want to be the one to be responsible for killing the last Dragon, even if Kilgharrah personally might’ve deserved it at the time. That was all before Aithusa came along.”

Everyone nods in understanding, before focussing their attention back on Aithusa. She really was like a giant puppy, even if they had to be wary to avoid her claws as she twitched in her sleep.

Merlin sighs, looking forlorn once again as he realises how exhausted he is, knowing that they’re going to have to get up and make camp at some point. 

He can cope with an awkward, tense silence between him and Arthur easily enough, that’s what the last few weeks had consisted of. But an awkward and tense silence between everyone? Elyan and Percival inwardly fuming? Gwaine outwardly fuming? Leon and Lancelot being all protective? He’s not sure he can deal with that.

At Merlin’s sigh, Lancelot tilts his head to catch his eye. His brow creases as he says softly:

“What is it, Merls?”

Merlin looks up, still squeezing Leon’s hand, before quietly replying:

“Nothing, I’m just tired. We have to re-make camp at some point and I’m not sure if I can deal with everyone being so...”

He waves his free hand around loosely, and Lancelot huffs out a laugh, before kicking Gwaine, getting everyone’s attention:

“We have to go make camp. But Merlin is exhausted, and doesn’t want to deal with any of this shit tonight, so we’re all going to have to play nice for the time being.”

Gwaine growls, and quickly retorts:

“Like hell am I gonna treat him with-”

Lancelot kicks him again, harder this time, and Elyan replaces the harsh hand on his shoulder before forcefully saying:

“Right now, it doesn’t matter what Arthur deserves. Merlin needs peace and quiet, and that’s what we’re going to give him.”

Gwaine grumbles, but begrudgingly nods, and Merlin gives him a grateful smile. 

The knights all stand up, and Merlin shakes Aithusa awake, giving a small chuckle when she stretches like a cat.

Once she takes her weight off of his lap, Merlin follows the knights to stand, almost falling over at the weakness in his legs. Leon and Lancelot catch an arm each, steadying him as he shuts his eyes tightly, willing the dizziness away.

He feels a hand wipe the hair from his forehead, and opens his eyes slowly to see Percival checking him over with an assessing gaze:

“I’m fine, just tired, a little dizzy.”

Lancelot nods in understanding, humming slightly:

“Hmm. I’m not surprised, you haven’t done anything this big in a while, and I doubt you’ve slept well in the last few weeks.”

Merlin gives him a sheepish look as he shakes his head, but it’s Elyan’s questioning gaze that Lancelot responds to:

“I found out by accident when I first met him. Our Warlock isn’t very good at keeping secrets.”

He says it with a small smirk as he looks back down to Merlin, who’s looking indignant:

“Hey! I managed to keep everyone else from finding out.”

Gwaine looks guilty as he raises his arm quietly:

“Actually uh... I knew. I mean not about the whole Emrys, prophecy thing. But the magic stuff, yeah.”

Merlin looks at him, shocked. The other knights share his expression for just a moment before they laugh at the look on Merlin’s face:

“How?!”

Gwaine puts his arm down and laughs again:

“Mate... we met in the middle of a tavern fight, in which shit started literally flying about the moment you joined in.-”

He shrugged, before casually continuing:

“-I figured you would tell me when you wanted to. Until then, it wasn’t my secret to know. You also have me to thank for backing you up every time The Prick asked if I saw you at the tavern.”

Merlin laughed and nodded his thanks, before looking over to where said Prick was setting up camp, a few metres beyond the edge of the crater.

His face fell slightly and the others follow his gaze, tensing slightly in anger when they saw what he was looking at. Merlin takes his arms from Leon and Lancelot, finally feeling steady on his feet, before quietly saying:

“Come on, we might as well get this over with. I’m starving, and tired, and Aithusa will get bored if we don’t start entertaining her.”

Everyone turns around to see Aithusa (now she was sure that her Lord was ok), prancing about in the crater; chasing birds and digging holes.

Merlin raises an eyebrow and everyone else chuckles slightly. Gwaine pushes Lancelot out of the way and takes Merlin’s hand, beginning to walk determinedly towards camp. Everyone catches up quickly, Leon taking Merlin’s other hand when the man had reached out to grab his cape.

Gwaine looks down at Merlin, seeing how nervous he is, and says:

“So. How long until she’s big enough to be ridden? I want you to take me flying, Merlin.”

Merlin chuckles, and looks back to see Aithusa happily trailing them:

“Not for a while. Dragons grow slow, so it’ll be another few years at least. Plus she’s got some issues with bone growth that we’re still trying to fix. She’ll be fine in the long run, but her development is taking a lot longer than normal. She still can’t speak.”

Everyone stops at that, and Merlin’s arms get yanked back when he continued walking. He turns to see Leon giving him an incredulous look:

“Dragons can speak?!”

Merlin tilts his head in confusion, before laughing and tugging them forwards again:

“Yeah. I forget that Uther basically erased all knowledge on Dragons, but they’re just as intelligent as we are. Kilgharrah would like to think that they’re more intelligent, but he’s always been a cryptic, egotistical bastard.-”

The others follow his pace and nod, but the mood darkens as they almost reach the camp. Merlin continues faintly, but quickly:

“I’ll tell you everything I know when... when we get back.”

Leon squeezes his hand, knowing that he was about to say “if”, assuring him that “when” is the right word.

Arthur looks up at the group and gulps from his place next to the fire. He straightens up, the anxiety showing clearly on his face, but before anyone can say anything, Aithusa jumps in between him.

He falls back at the sudden movement and she begins to growl; he widens his eyes as she stalks slowly towards him.

Gwaine smirks again, the others managing to keep their faces blank, but Merlin looks shocked, before he jumps forward and puts a hand on the Dragon’s back:

“Aithusa no. He’s a... friend. It’s ok, he’s-”

Arthur jumps to his feet and interrupts him:

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll... go... sit over there.”

He gestures behind him, and walks quickly away from the fire, sitting just within the fire’s light, the evening dimming around them.

Aithusa tilts her head, snaps her jaws at him once more before completely changing disposition. She begins bouncing around the fire, chirping happily and playfully trying to catch floating embers in her claws.

Merlin smiles slightly and the other knights (bar Gwaine, who is glaring very pointedly at Arthur) chuckle at her antics, before they all sit in a semi circle on the opposite side of the fire to Arthur, Merlin in the middle.

The Warlock is once again wedged protectively between Leon and Gwaine, and he fiddles softly with Leon’s cape in his lap as he stares fondly at Aithusa.

Elyan moves to the packs, unloading food and water and cooking pots. Merlin gets up to help, but Gwaine pulls him back down by the hand and holds on firmly as he says:

“You’ve been through enough. We can put up with Elyan’s shitty cooking for a couple nights.”

Merlin tries to pull away with a “But I can-” but Leon grabs his other hand, holding him down and interrupting:

“Absolutely not. You said yourself that you’re tired. If Elyan needs help, he can ask one of us.”

Merlin huffs sulkily and Leon laughs, stroking the back of his hand protectively.

Leon had known Merlin just as long as Arthur had, and whilst they had virtually nothing to do with each other the first few years, they were still friendly acquaintances, even then. Leon knew full well that it was Merlin who would have a hot meal left in his room after a late patrol, and Merlin always appreciated how Leon kept as many weapons in the armoury in as good nick as possible, so Merlin didn’t have to deal with it.

Besides, even before they knew each other’s names, Leon always found Merlin’s reactions to Arthur’s stupidity funny. He could hardly say it out loud, being the Perfect Knight and all, but he always thought it was a good thing that Arthur had someone at his side keeping him humble, and calling him out in ways no one else would.

Of course they had gotten much closer over the years, as did all of the knights, thanks to Merlin. Currently, Leon was feeling just a tinge of regret at being so grateful for Merlin’s presence at Arthur’s side; he had never really thought about how difficult being that man’s babysitter would be, especially now he knew Merlin had magic. And some sort of destiny.

Time passes fairly quickly whilst Elyan cooks, the others taking to heart what Lancelot had said and trying to keep a quiet, but easy conversation going.

They ask Merlin various questions about Aithusa, Kilgharrah, the Druids, the weird name that he had been called. He answered them all easily enough, but they notice the way he hesitates when they ask about his magic specifically or the prophecies, so they steer clear of those topics.

They’ll definitely want to know the whole story eventually, and they’re practically buzzing with desperation to ask Merlin to show them something magical, but they know that now is not the time.

Dinner is finally served, and despite Gwaine’s statement, it wasn’t actually that bad. Mainly because every time Elyan went to add something to the pot, he would look back desperately at Merlin, and took into account the shakes and nods of his head with a grateful smile.

He did struggle to cover the scowl on his face when he delivered Arthur’s bowl to him, replying to The King’s quiet “thank you, Elyan” with an even quieter “don’t mention it” .

Dinner was eaten quickly and in silence. They hadn’t been unconscious for long, and hour or two at most, but they had all worked up an understandable appetite, Merlin especially. He would never ask for seconds, but knowing that, Elyan gave him an extra big serving without a word.

They entertained themselves after dinner by throwing the last scraps of meat to Aithusa, watching her jump and flip and fly about the camp. Merlin had objected at first, but gave in when he saw the small grin on Leon’s face, and heard the way the others were laughing. The City was only a few days ride away, they could always hunt on the way back.

It didn’t take long for her to tire out and curl up at Merlin’s feet to sleep. Like Merlin had mentioned, Aithusa was developing slowly, and she normally couldn’t fly very far; it must’ve taken a huge amount of energy and effort for her to get all the way here. But like the Knights, she was very protective, and there was no way she could not check on her Lord, after she and Kilgharrah had felt the anguish he was in.

As Kilgharrah once again crosses Merlin’s mind, he sighs, and makes mental note to call him in the morning, when he had more energy.

Merlin is distracted from his thoughts when the camp goes silent all of a sudden, and Gwaine reaches over to squeeze his hand. He looks up in worry, to see that Arthur had stood, and walked a little closer, though he made sure to stay the other side of the fire.

Merlin tenses slightly. He tries not to let it show, but he can knows that he failed when he feels Leon’s hand firmly in the middle of his back. Hidden from the others, but a silent reassurance.

Arthur gulps, obviously nervous, but he meets Merlin’s gaze, flinching at the slight fear in his eyes:

“Merlin, I know nothing I say will-”

He’s interrupted by Gwaine growling and standing suddenly, stepping in front of Merlin protectively, but it’s Lancelot’s harsh words that cut him off fully:

“Not tonight, Arthur. We’re all tired and angry so just... not tonight.”

Arthur clenches his jaw, and blinks away tears before nodding:

“Yes, I... I understand.”

With that, he sniffles slightly before taking a step back. He looks to the floor as he mumbles something about checking the perimeter, before slowly walking away from the camp, into the night.

Merlin lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and relaxes slightly as Leon runs his hand over his back. Gwaine stares after Arthur for a few moments, deliberating on whether or not to follow him (and presumably, kick his ass). Merlin reaching up to take his hand and pull him back down makes his mind up, and he settles back into his seat, Merlin’s small hand clasped between his two larger ones.

Percival speaking up breaks the tense silence:

“It’s late and Lance is right, we’re all tired. If we want to make quick work of the journey home, and have time to hunt, then we should get some sleep.”

Murmurs of agreement float up around the group, and Gwaine, voice still tense and angry, says:

“I’ll take first-”

But he’s quickly interrupted by Elyan, softly laughing:

“Absolutely not, Gwaine. If you’re left alone we’ll all wake to find the King dead in the morning.”

Gwaine raises a challenging eyebrow, not denying anything, and Elyan huffs, Percival muttering:

“Fine. But I’m taking it with you so you don’t get a chance to smother him.”

Gwaine gives a sarcastic looking smile, before ruffling Merlin’s hair fondly and walking towards the fire. He adds another log, grabs his bedroll, and settles down against a tree, Percival sitting at his side.

Everyone else gathers their rolls, and whilst normally they spread out, they all seem rather desperate to stay as close to Merlin as possible.

Normally he would complain, they all snore, and Merlin is definitely expecting nightmares tonight, but he can’t find it in himself to send them away, and to be perfectly honest, he's certain that they would just move back the moment he closed his eyes anyway.

The Warlock finds himself tucked under Lancelot’s arm, with Leon a respectful distance away on his other side, though still within arm’s reach. Elyan settles somewhere below his feet, and for the first time in weeks, Merlin finds himself fully relaxed. 

Aithusa sleepily moves from her spot by Merlin’s feet, to curl up with Gwaine and Percival, and Merlin smiles at the thought that she not only trusts his friends in general, but trusts them enough to leave Merlin in their care. Dragons are protective and possessive creatures, and that trust speaks volumes.

Merlin is still a little miserable, and he almost resents himself for still being scared of Arthur despite his obvious regret, but... with all that happened... well. You can’t really blame him.

He’s got a gaggle of very protective knights around him, one of which he can vaguely hear trying to persuade another to commit regicide when no one was looking.

He has time to huff out a small laugh as Lancelot pulls him closer, before he drifts off; much quicker than he thought he would. He was comforted by the warmth behind him, the presence at his feet, the guardians watching over him, and the hand reaching towards him in the dark, just about close enough to lay fingers over Merlin’s heartbeat.

No nightmares plague him that night, and he doesn’t even wake to the warning growls sent Arthur’s way when he eventually returned to camp.

The next few days, hell, the next few months would probably be difficult, but he finds himself not as anxious now he knows he won’t have to face it alone.

~

THE END

I don’t think I’ll write a part two to this, but if someone wants to extend it, feel free, same as normal: credit and tag me :)

I’ve had the whole speech written out in full in my phone notes for like two months, but only recently got round to actually turning it into anything. I hope ya’ll enjoyed it!! I wanted to write something hella angsty so....

I’m fairly certain whatever I write next will be the dead opposite of this (FLUFF fluff) but honestly who knows.

Let me know if there’s anything specific you want my thoughts on :)

[onecanonlife]

Wilbur has never had wings. He has long since resigned himself to that fact. However much of his father's blood runs through his veins, it is not enough to grant him that gift.

Wilbur comes back to life, and his back begins to ache.

(word count: 6,141)

---------------------

It’s stupid, but when his back first begins to ache, he assumes it’s old age.

The thing is that he doesn’t have any real frame of reference for what constitutes as old and what does not. His father is old, but his father has lived for literally thousands of years. Technoblade is not quite so old as that, but Technoblade never dies is more than just a catchphrase. Tommy is young, he’s sure of that much, but Tommy has days where he wakes up and his head and ribs won’t stop aching, remnants of that third death that have never quite left him, so Tommy is perhaps not the best gauge of what pains are and are not normal for a young person.

Wilbur doesn’t think that he’s particularly old. He’s still not yet thirty, unless he counts the void years. Then, he’s older than thirty. Then, he’s older than his own bones. He tries not to dwell on the void years, because dwelling on the void years gives him urges that he’s still learning how to ignore. Urges like informing everyone gaily and at length when the inevitable heat death of the universe will be, or giving everyone a graphic description of what happens at a microscopic level in the human body when it picks up a stomach bug.

The point is, he’s not very old. But he feels it, a lot of the time, so when he wakes up one morning and his back is killing him, he shrugs it off and goes about his day. It hurts, sure. It hurts kind of a lot. But he’s had worse. The void took him apart molecule by molecule and put him back together again so many times that he learned to love it, and compared to that, this is nothing at all.

Life in the Arctic has been—nice. It’s been nice, reconnecting with Phil, cautiously rebuilding his relationship with Technoblade. Tommy comes to visit a lot, and it’s odd, trying to juggle the kid he thinks of as a brother with his father and his father’s best friend, especially when there’s so much bad blood between the lot of them, but they make it work. And Ranboo is around a lot, and he’s a nice kid, and Niki stops by every so often, and it’s good to see her. No one else is very interested in coming to visit him, which is understandable, but she always smiles at him, and he knows that they’re still friends. Which is good.

He’s fairly sure that the four of them, Phil and Techno and Niki and Ranboo, have some sort of secret club thing going on. They always give him different answers when he asks about it; Niki blinks and tells him it’s a book club, and Ranboo does not blink because he does not have eyelids, but Ranboo claims that it’s a pet grooming society. So they’re lying to him for sure, and he thinks he could know the truth if he wanted to, if he tapped in just a bit more to those bits of void that have nestled in his heart. The temptation is strong, sometimes, but he resists.

He doesn’t want to mess with a good thing, is all. He’s found a peace here in the snow that he didn’t think he would be able to find outside of the grave. He is hesitant to call himself healing, but most days, when his head cries out for blood and fire and burning the world and himself along with it, he can push the idea away and carry on without trying to act on it. That is healing, perhaps.

Captain Puffy tells him it is, anyway, and he’s found that Captain Puffy tends to know what she’s talking about.

But so. His back hurts. And he expects it to stop after a while, because even old person aches surely can’t last forever. Except, it doesn’t, and in fact seems to only get worse over the next few days, to the point that he starts to worry that it’s going to begin interfering with his functionality. Which he doesn’t want. He needs freedom, freedom to go where he wants, even if where he wants to go usually isn’t very far. It’s the principle of the thing. He does not do well with confinement, with spaces that are too enclosed, and if this pain ends up laying him out in his room, he’s going to go insane.

Poor choice of words, that. But the point still stands, so he makes a decision. The decision is this: he’s simply not going to allow that to happen.

So he slaps a smile on his face and carries on with his business, and does his best to ignore the way his spine starts to feel like it’s cracking open and stabbing into the surrounding muscle. And he is a very good actor, if he does say so himself, so for the most part, no one seems to notice that anything is wrong. Phil asks him if he’s feeling alright, but he’s able to deflect by claiming fatigue, and Phil accepts the explanation easily. And the pain only increases, does not let up at all, but it’s a gradual sort of increase, so before too long, he figures out how to adjust to it. It’s fine. He’ll be fine.

And then Tommy stops by for a visit, and they’re chatting outside for a moment, and Tommy says something stupid and ridiculous, so he smacks him gently upside the head, which Tommy takes objection to. And then they’re wrestling, which makes the pain flare a bit, but it’s manageable, especially since he gets Tommy pinned in about four seconds flat, which. Is concerning, a bit, because he is not particularly strong, physically, so if he can pin Tommy, there are a lot of other people who could also definitely pin Tommy.

But he’s probably not thinking about it the right way. This was a play fight, not a real one, and it’s difficult, sometimes, to remember that the server is currently at peace.

He pins Tommy, both of them panting and grinning in the snow, and he doesn’t let up until Tommy admits defeat. And then he gets to his feet, and here is where he makes the error: he turns his back.

The snowball impacts him right between his shoulder blades. He stumbles forward with the force of it, and his knees hit the snow.

Tommy is already cackling, is calling him a bitch. Wilbur barely has time to think oh, shit before something spasms, and it’s like something has taken a knife to him from the inside out. He hears a strangled little scream, choked and agonized, and barely recognizes the fact that it’s coming from him, because black spots are dancing across his vision and his lungs aren’t inflating properly and he can hardly think.

“Oh, come on,” Tommy says, a wide smile still in his voice. “Don’t be such a pussy. I didn’t even pack any ice in.”

He can’t reply. The agony is centered where the snowball hit, but it’s radiating outward, and the whole of his back feels like it’s burning and freezing all at once, and he shudders violently, breaths coming in short, quick gasps. He clenches his fists, braces them against his thighs, pressing down hard enough to leave bruises.

“Wilbur?” Tommy asks, more uncertain. And then, Tommy is there, kneeling down in front of him, and his face goes all wide and panicky. “Wilbur? Holy shit, are you dying? Are you having a heart attack? A stroke? Are you freezing to death? Have I just killed you with a snowball? You’ve got three lives again, right? Where are you hurt, Wil, come one, you’ve got to tell me, you’ve gotta tell me so I can fix it, are you—”

“My back,” he manages, “my back’s been—my back’s been hurting, it wasn’t your fault, it’s just—�� He cuts off with another gasp as all the muscles in his back convulse, tensing and untensing and tensing again and sending a wave of stabbing pain through his nerves.

“Oh, Prime,” Tommy says, “oh, Prime, alright, you’re gonna be fine, big man, let’s just get you inside, alright? Can you walk? Nevermind, just—” Tommy hooks his hands underneath his arms and hauls him to his feet, slinging one of his arms across his shoulders as soon as he can get them in the right position. He lets out a little whimper, and hates himself for doing so, just a little bit, but fuck, that hurts.

The stairs are a trial. His feet drag, and he would trip and fall flat on his face if it weren’t for Tommy. But then, they’re inside Phil’s house, and Tommy sits him down on Phil’s ratty little couch, and he immediately curls in on himself, hands gripping his forearms as if the pain will go away if he hugs himself hard enough.

“Okay, shirt off, Wil, let me see,” Tommy says, and he blinks dumbly for a moment.

“What?” he asks, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

“No, just—you’ve got to let me see what’s wrong, yeah?”

“‘S old man aches,” he mumbles, but doesn’t try to fight it when Tommy begins manhandling his arms, pushing at his coat sleeves.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Tommy demands. “You’re not that old. Who do you think you are, Philza fucking Minecraft? Come on, just let me see—” He finally manages to get the coat off, and then the shirt, and his skin erupts in gooseflesh as it’s exposed to the air. Tommy freezes.

“What?” he asks. “What is it, what’s—”

“I don’t,” Tommy says, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t, Wilbur, I don’t know what this is, I don’t—holy shit, that’s actually kind of scary. Um! No, nevermind, don’t pay attention to me, just keep um, breathing! Breathing is good! Breathing exercises!” He breathes in and out, loud and exaggerated. “See, just like that. I’m just gonna—”

And he puts a hand out, and before Wilbur can stop him, he rests it on his back. Light and cautious, but still too much, and Wilbur stuffs a fist into his mouth to stop himself from screaming. In the same motion, he flinches away, violently, but the damage has already been done. Because the contact hurts, a lot, but what’s worse is the horror, because in the split second that Tommy’s hand touched his skin, he could feel the way that it is wrong, that his back is wrong, that there is something terribly wrong. Because there are ridges protruding from his back, long and thick and raised, and it’s wrong and it hurts and Tommy’s right, actually, this is scary, he’s fucking scared.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Tommy is saying, “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I won’t do that again, I’m so sorry, Wilbur, are you okay? Please be okay, please—”

He nods, though it’s more like he lets his head fall and then painstakingly brings it back up a little.

“Okay, I think we need—” Tommy says. “I think that I don’t know what to do, so I think we need—” He takes a deep breath. “Phil! Phil!” Loud, panicked, earsplitting. Wilbur winces. “Phil! He is home, isn’t he? Phil!”

A second passes, and then, drifting up from the basement, a distant, “Tommy? Everything good?”

“Phil, get up here right fucking now!”

There is a beat of silence, and then there are footsteps, quiet at first but growing closer, and they are quick, hurried. Phil must have detected the genuine fear in Tommy’s voice, because Tommy and Phil generally stand on very shaky ground with each other, so while Phil will typically indulge Tommy in his whims, it depends on the day as to how far he’ll go, how quick he’ll respond. But it’s only a moment or two before Phil’s head pokes out of the floor, his hands clinging to the ladder, his face twisted in confusion.

“What on earth is the matter?” he asks, and then breaks off as his eyes land on Wilbur, who—he must be a sight. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. But terror flashes across Phil’s face, and he is crossing the floor in an instant, hands hovering over him, fluttering helplessly, though thankfully, he doesn’t touch.

“What’s wrong, where are you hurt, what—” The words come out in a jumbled flurry, but he stops just as abruptly, and Wilbur knows that he is looking at the horror show that is his back.

“It hurts, Phil,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Phil says, sounding—still concerned, but perhaps marginally calmer? “Okay, you’re going to be alright. I think I know what this is.” He settles himself on the couch right next to him and opens his arms, and Wilbur doesn’t hesitate before leaning forward, slumping against him. Phil seems to know better than to put any kind of pressure on his back, and instead places one hand on his arm and the other on the back of his head, threading his fingers through his hair.

“Then what the fuck is it?” Tommy demands.

“Tommy, I need you to run over to Techno’s and ask him for something for pain, and something for sleep. Can you do that for me?” Phil asks instead of answering, and perhaps Wilbur should be terrified by the implication that he’s going to need either of those things, but the promise of some kind of relief overrides any kind of trepidation.

“Like fuck I will,” Tommy says, “Not before you tell me what the fuck is wrong with him!”

Another convulsion wracks him. He bites his lip to keep from crying out, and tastes blood. His breath is hitching, and he can’t stop it.

“Tommy.” Phil’s voice is sharp, but then, Wilbur feels rather than hears him sigh. “It’s wings, I think. I don’t understand why now, but I went through this a long time ago, when I was very young. I recognize the signs. So Tommy, please.”

Tommy makes a surprised little sound. Wilbur isn’t looking, has his face buried in Phil’s shoulder, but he can imagine the look on his face: the slack jaw, the wide open eyes. And then, there are rushed footsteps retreating, and the door slamming, and Tommy’s muffled voice calling out for Technoblade.

And then, Wilbur processes what Phil just said.

He twists his head around so he can see his face, regretting it a moment later. Any kind of movement seems to make the pain worse, and he has to take a moment to tremble through it.

“Wings?” he whispers. “How?”

He’s never had wings.

If he were going to have wings, he would have gotten them a long time ago. He remembers nights spent as a child, staying up and hoping for feathered appendages to somehow miraculously appear on his back, just so he could be more like his dad. He remembers the crushing disappointment when he finally accepted that no matter how much divine blood runs in his veins, it is apparently not enough.

But he did accept it. He accepted it years ago. There is absolutely no reason for him to be developing wings now, as a fully-grown adult, but Phil sounds so very sure, and his back hurts so very much, and perhaps that’s consistent with actual appendages trying to sprout out of him.

“I don’t know,” Phil says. “I’ve never heard of it happening so late, even in avians. Which, I’m not exactly, but I got mine when I was a kid like they do, and I don’t—I don’t know, Wil, I really don’t, but I remember what it was like, yeah? I know what to do. It’s gonna suck for a little while, but you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

“Okay,” he croaks, “okay—” and then he has to stop talking, because the pain flares again, bright and intense and holy shit, but it’s worse this time, because now that he knows what’s going on, he can feel them. He can feel things inside of him, pushing against his muscles and his skin in ways that absolutely should not be possible, and there is too much of him to be contained in his body, and there are things inside of him trying to escape—

It’s almost like the way he gets when he thinks about the void too hard. Except not, because when he does that, he feels the urge to dissolve away, gently and peacefully, to let himself back into the quiet that is not quiet and the darkness that is not dark, where all the knowledge of the world is at his fingertips, too much for a mortal brain to contain and remain sane. That is not this. This is his own body trying to explode. There is no peace, no dissolution; it’s messy and physical and Prime he just wants it to stop.

He shifts in Phil’s grasp, fruitlessly trying to find a position that takes the pressure off, a little bit. It’s no use, of course, because he can still feel something moving under the skin of his back, and his vision whites out, and when he comes back to himself, he’s shivering, shivering and shaking and sobbing in Phil’s hold, and he doesn’t remember when he started crying but he can’t seem to make himself stop. Phil is keeping up a steady stream of soothing nonsense, and he latches onto the sound of his voice like it’s the only lifeline he has.

And then the door bursts open, and Wilbur doesn’t bother trying to look, but there are two sets of footsteps, not just one.

“Here,” Tommy says, panting, and there are several thumps, and several clinks, glass on glass.

“Oh god, don’t—and he’s doing it, he’s just dumping all of that on the floor. Don’t break those, Tommy, those aren’t splash pots. Have you never handled a potion before.” Technoblade pauses for a moment. “So, what exactly’s wrong with him? The child was making no sense at all.”

Wilbur thinks he detects a note of concern. But he’s not thinking clearly, and it’s always hard to tell anyway, with Technoblade.

“He’s got wings growing in,” Phil responds, voice clipped. Wilbur feels his hand leave his arm, and he whines at the loss of touch. And then another spasm, and he whines again, pressing his face harder into Phil’s shirt.

“Oh. Huh. Yes, that makes perfect sense, of course.”

Phil’s arm dips a bit, and Wilbur finds himself being moved, his head gently tilted back. Phil’s face comes into view, pale and blurry.

“You want to drink this for me, Wil?” he says, and then there is glass at his lips, and he parts them immediately. He doesn’t like being knocked out, doesn’t like the loss of control that comes with it, but if he has to be aware for another five minutes, he’s not going to be able to keep himself from screaming aloud.

He swallows, grimacing at the taste. The effects start hitting right away. His mind detaches from himself, and the pain drains from him. Every muscle goes lax.

He exhales.

“There we go,” Phil murmurs, “there we go. It’s gonna be alright, Wil. I’ll be here the whole time. You’re gonna be okay.”

The world falls away. He lets it. He trusts his father to catch him.

----------

He wakes up a few times, and each time, it hurts. Phil is always there, and usually, Tommy too, and sometimes Techno, and he can barely move but they always see that he’s awake, and they give him a potion and he’s under again, and he’s glad for it, because those moments of consciousness are a spiral of pain and confusion and his thoughts flying apart because he barely understands what’s going on or why he’s hurting and he just wants it to go away.

And then there is the time he wakes up and he thinks somebody is cutting his back open, and he can feel his own blood on his skin, sticky and hot, and he thrashes, trying to get away, and that makes the pain so much worse, and the sound that comes out of his mouth is inhuman, and he fights until a potion is poured down his throat and it’s back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and people are talking in low, hushed tones. He can’t make out what they’re saying. He cracks his eyes open, and it’s Phil and Technoblade, deep in some discussion, both looking terribly concerned. He decides he’ll ask what’s wrong later, and then closes his eyes and goes back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and some part of him is moving, and he doesn’t understand what it is because it’s not any of his limbs, not his arms and not his legs, and it feels alien and foreign and his back feels like it’s been shoved under a woodchipper and then tossed through a paper shredder for good measure, and he’s not aware enough to know why, so he panics. There is a bit of the void that still dwells in his heart, and he calls on it, cries out to it, and it answers, comes rushing in around him, and his mind expands to peer into galaxies.

Philza is at his side a moment later, and he is able to look at him and see all the weight of years that lie behind his eyes, and all the years that lie ahead of him, and the moment of his death, all spiraling out like a tapestry and like a mass, and the music is atonal, confused, but a closer glance reveals it to be twelve-tone, order in the chaotic lines. Wilbur is with the void again, and his heart still beats, but it’s a near thing, and he could stop it if he chose.

“Do you want to know, Philza?” he asks, words spilling from his lips like rain, like the river, like the flood. “Do you want to know when it will happen? I can see it. I can see how some part of you wants it. All our histories are like tangled up threads, but they all come to an end, and I can see those endings, Philza, I can tell you about them if you like.”

Pain constricts Philza’s face, and Wilbur doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know who wouldn’t love the void and its peace and its everything.

“I know, Wilbur,” Philza says, “I know, but how about you come back to me now, okay? Come back to me?”

“We’re all little bits of code, Philza,” he informs him. “None of us are real. We’re little bits of code and words on a page and lines in a script written by our better selves. Nothing in this world really matters. We might as well have all the fun we can before the lights go out. Do you want to know when that will be, Philza? Not too long after you, Philza. Not too long at all. I told Tommy, he knows, he didn’t want to know but that’s alright, he’s better off for it, if he hasn’t forgotten.”

“Come back, Wil, come on,” Philza says, “you can do it. You’ve got a heartbeat, do you feel it?”

Philza takes his hand and places it over his heart, and—that’s right. He’s alive. He’d forgotten. The void spins, and then it tucks itself away again, waiting for the next moment he needs it, and he is left with only vague impressions of what he’s just said and a vague idea that everything hurts and something is wrong with his back and he’d like to go to sleep now, please.

“Alright, yeah,” Phil says, “here, you can have this, you can sleep. You’re doing so well, Wil, I promise it’s almost done.”

He takes the potion. Or tries to; Phil has to hold it for him.

“Okay,” he says faintly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he hears Phil say, very far away. “So long as you come back, everything’s okay.”

He goes back to sleep again. He thinks he wakes up a few more times, but he doesn’t really remember. He doesn’t really want to.

----------

And then: awareness.

The first thing he processes is that everything aches, deeply and acutely, but none of it feels nearly as bad as it did before, and not even as bad as it’s been over the past couple of weeks. It’s irritating, painful, but more than manageable, really, practically a relief. The second thing he processes is that he’s lying on his stomach, and that there is something weighing him down.

His mind puzzles over this for a moment. He tries to roll over, to see what’s going on, but something stops him, and then he remembers: wings.

He’s got wings. There are wings on his back. Growing out of him. A part of his body. Wings.

As soon as he realizes that, he becomes aware of them. And it is so very strange, to suddenly have access to two extra limbs, to suddenly have additional body parts to move about and control. It’s a feeling impossible to describe, and he has to take several minutes to process it, to try to become accustomed to it. It doesn’t really work, but he tries moving them anyway, just a bit of a flex, and—

Ouch.

He groans, shoving his face into the pillow. A mistake. That was a mistake. He’d rather like to go back to sleep now and pretend that none of this is happening.

But his vocalization draws attention, and then there is a hand on his shoulder, gently brushing him just enough to feel, not enough to pain him. He turns his head to the side, reluctantly, and Phil is kneeling beside him, his face open and soft and clearly relieved, his lips curling into a slight smile.

“Hey,” he says. “How you feeling, Wil?”

He considers this, and decides on honesty. “Bit like I’ve been caught between a piston and a wall for the past couple of days,” he admits. “Better than before, though.”

“Good to hear,” Phil says, and then his face goes a bit more serious. “How much of that do you remember?”

“Not much?” he says. “I don’t think? Impressions, I guess. I know I wasn’t having a good time. I’m glad I don’t remember it too clearly. I was out for most of it, yeah?”

“Most of it,” Phil agrees, and Wilbur thinks that perhaps there is something he’s not saying, but he doesn’t feel like pressing the matter. He can guess what it is, anyway; there is a chill in his chest, and his thoughts feel just slightly more fractured than usual, so it’s not hard to assume what might have happened. Not hard to assume where he might have gone. He’s sure he’ll feel terrible about it when everything stops feeling so surreal.

He has wings.

“It’s over now?” he asks, and winces at the way his voice cracks. “It’s done?”

Phil’s eyes do the thing where they go immeasurably soft and crinkly at the edges, and it’s love and relief and sadness all at once. “It’s done,” he agrees, and then hesitates. “You’re not gonna be able to fly on them for a while, but would you like to see?”

He doesn’t understand why Phil is being so cautious about it. Of course he wants to see. If he’s going to be put through hell, he wants to see what came of it. He wants it to be worth it.

“Usually, when wings grow in, they’re all downy and shit. Like a baby bird,” Phil says, probably in response to whatever face he’s sure he’s making. “Flight feathers come in over the next few weeks.” He pauses again, and Wilbur thinks he understands his reticence, now, understands the still-present concern.

“But that’s not what happened with mine,” he states, and Phil shakes his head.

“Yours are fully fledged,” he says. “Probably part of why it hurt so much. I don’t know why, Wil. But do you wanna have a look?”

Wordless, he nods, and Phil takes that as his cue to reach out and help him sit upright. It’s far more effort than it should be, compounded by the fact that his sense of balance feels all wrong, and that’s going to take some getting used to, he can already tell. And he’s sore, like he’s run a marathon or fought another half dozen wars all in one go, and his head spins a little bit when he finally situates himself. He closes his eyes against it, breathing in sharply.

He feels Phil guiding his wings forward, into his field of vision. He opens his eyes.

They are very big, is the first thing he notices. They would have to be, of course, to hold his weight up. Magic and suspension of disbelief only stretches so far. They are very large, and the feathers are very large, and they are very angular and neat as well, so neat that someone has to have arranged them while he was unconscious, because there’s no way that they came out looking like that.

The color, though. The color. He swallows, hard.

They are black, perhaps. They look black. But he knows on an instinctive level that they are black in the same way that the void is black, and that if someone were to stare at them for too long, they would realize as much, would realize that actually, they are not black at all, but rather some color or some lack of color that is beyond human comprehension. The void translates as black to the human mind because it is as close as the human mind can get to true perception, and most of the time, Wilbur remembers it as black, but it was not, and his wings are not, and he is never going to be free of it, is he?

On some level, he knew that. Knew that the void is in him and about him, and no matter what he does, it will never leave him completely, not after all the years he spent with it, intertwined with the infinite nothing. But now he has wings on his back, and they should be a connection between him and Phil, should be something to celebrate, but he stares at the plumage and feels sick to his stomach.

“Wil?” Phil asks. He sounds confused, sounds worried by his reaction. “You okay, mate?”

He’s not sure how to phrase this in a way that Phil will understand. Not sure that he wants to.

“Void,” he manages, voice a broken whisper. “They look like void, Phil.”

He looks up just in time to see Phil’s face crumple.

“Wil—”

“They look just like it, Phil,” he continues. “Just like it. And I know I’m not always good about, about being here, about keeping myself stable, but I’m trying. I try to ignore it when it calls, I try not to reach out to it, and when I fail, I, I try to come back, I do, I swear. I can’t—I can’t have these, Phil, they’re from it, that’s why I’m getting them now, maybe it triggered something, I don’t know, but I can’t, Phil, I can’t—”

He reaches out toward them, intending to do—something, maybe, and Phil must have a better idea than he does, because his hand darts out and snags his, stopping him in his tracks.

“No, Wil, don’t do that, okay? We can work on it, we’ll figure it out, but please don’t—”

“You’re up!”

He and Phil both freeze, and as one, look to the door. Tommy is standing there, grinning like nobody’s business, and Technoblade is lurking behind him, his face contorted into an expression that looks like he wants to murder someone but really just means he’s feeling very awkward.

Tommy glances back and forth between the two of him, and his face slowly falls.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. “Nothing—I mean, it all went right, didn’t it?”

He blinks. Tilts his head slightly. Gently removes his hand from Phil’s grasp, and then spreads out his wings behind him, putting them on full display, as far out as he can make them go, and it aches and he’s not going to be able to hold them there for long, but it’s worth it. He wants Tommy to see. Because Tommy will know. Tommy remembers. And unlike him, Tommy hates to remember. Tommy hates the void. So perhaps this is an act of self-sabotage. That’s what Captain Puffy would say. But he does it anyway, because he wants someone else to see and understand, understand in a way he knows Phil won’t be able to.

“I’ve got void wings, Tommy,” he says, and a smile splits his face. “See them?”

Tommy’s eyes widen, and he flinches.

Gratification is not nearly as sweet as he thought it would be. Actually, he just sort of feels like crying.

But then, Tommy’s brows draw together. And he steps further into the room, coming closer and closer until he’s standing right up against the bed, staring at the feathers. Wilbur holds himself very still.

“I see,” Tommy says slowly, “but Wilbur, I’m not sure you do.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, and cranes his neck to try to see whatever Tommy’s looking at. For a moment, he doesn’t; there’s just the feathers, void feathers, death feathers, a reminder that—

But arctic sunlight slants through the window, and if he shifts his angle just a little bit—

The noise that escapes him is small and involuntary. He hopes no one calls him on it, but that’s the least of his concerns right now. Because the colors do not change, not exactly, but if he holds them to the light, the sun illuminates the feathers, haloing their edges in gold, and there is a sheen of color running across them, a sheen that ripples and moves as he shifts them in the sunbeam, and it is a beautiful, rich blue.

And they’re lovely.

“Oh,” he says, and Tommy laughs at him, the fucking gremlin.

“Yeah, fucking oh,” he says. “You’re such a moron. They’re so fucking ace, Wilbur.”

“I think that maybe you need to work on rememberin’,” Technoblade says from the doorway, “that you’re the sum of all your experiences, and not just one.”

Wilbur stares at him.

“Oh my god,” he finally says. “That’s so cheesy. Who the hell are you and what have you done with Technoblade?”

“Alright,” Techno grumbles, “see if I do anythin’ nice for you ever again. I didn’t come up here to receive this kind of treatment. This is an outrage.”

He laughs. He laughs, from the sheer relief of it, and his trepidation is melting away like snow in the sunshine, and he can allow himself to revel in it, to revel in the wings on his back, and he is sore and tired but this is what glory feels like, maybe, and perhaps he can fly into the air and there will be no wax to drip away.

Perhaps these wings are of the void, but they are of him, too.

And he looks to Phil again, and Phil is smiling at him, warm and happy. His own wings are flared out behind him, tattered at the edges, so many feathers torn or still missing entirely, and the more time that passes, the more and more likely it is that those feathers are never going to grow back, that Phil truly will never fly again. Phil has already resigned himself to it, he knows, but Wilbur has never given up hope, will never be able to bring himself to give up hope.

“It’s not fair that I can fly when you can’t,” he says quietly, and the room goes still and quiet. Especially when it’s my fault, he doesn’t say, though he knows everyone hears it.

“Wil,” Phil says, “nothing could bring me more joy than this.”

And Wilbur hears what he means: you, here.

So he flexes his wings and revels in the ache and revels in the sunshine and revels at his family, here, his father sitting by him and his friend-protege-brother poking at curiously at his feathers and Technoblade still in the doorway, not leaving even for all his grumbling. He revels in this, revels in this life, and for a time, the void recedes entirely.

And in its wake is the sunlight.

[pies-writes-and-more]

be my festival date! (asahi)

word count: 2,353

pairing: azumane asahi x fem!reader

warnings: literally all fluff and asahi being a panicky little cutie lol

a/n: hello lovelies! thank you for all the love on the series so far haha i’m really glad to see you guys liked the idea! i surprised myself with how long this one was so i’m sorry it’s already longer than the first chapter lol i hope you guys like it though!! enjoy :D note: the following gif is not mine - credits to the original creator

haikyuu masterlist | be my festival date masterlist

Asahi had actually been relatively calm this morning, given the circumstances. He had spent his time getting ready also praying to any gods that would listen, hoping they would grace him with the ability to make you happy. That’s all he wanted from today, after all. He just wanted you to be happy. His eyes crinkled into a soft smile as he thought about the giggle that erupted from your lips, the smile on your lips, the passion in your eyes as you talked about your interests - you were such an extraordinary person and he was lucky enough to get to spend part of the day with you. So of course he wanted you to be happy.

He had pulled his hair into a loose bun behind his head, tugged on a nice sweater that was nice but not too nice for a festival, wanting to look his absolute best for you because today was going to be a great day, he reminded himself over and over again.

He was completely calm. That is, until his eyes met yours. There was something about the way the excitement lit up on your face as you caught his eye, the way that your hand shot up in the air to wave at him, the excited skipping over to him - it just blew him away. 

And suddenly, Asahi couldn’t remember how to breathe properly. Was it… was it through his nose? His mouth? Should he be taking in more oxygen? Should he be breathing out more? Was he breathing too loudly now?

There must’ve been a sort of panicked look in Asahi’s eyes as you came over to him because you started laughing the moment you saw him, “You doing alright, Asahi?”

He nodded eagerly, swallowing down his nerves as he tried to seem as calm as he had felt this morning, “Y-Yea! You just… you just take away a guy’s breath so easily ya know?” It would’ve been such a smooth line, if Asahi’s voice hadn’t been cracking while saying it out of nervousness.

You seemed pleased by it regardless, just by the way you smiled and laughed, reaching up to give him a hug, “Thanks Asahi! You look very nice today.”

Asahi’s cheeks were already burning warmer than he would’ve liked, stammering out a thank you before trying to clear his throat, “S-So! The games!” He blurted out, as if remembering why the two of you were there. “I figured out where all the games are - most of them are around here, which is why I asked you to meet me here. But if you’re up for trekking around with me, there’s some other games across the festival grounds.”

You were beyond excited, your smile stretching even wider as Asahi showed you the map that he had received of the festival’s activities, “Sounds good!” You had been thrilled when Asahi had asked you to play some of these dumb games with him - it didn’t really matter to you that people always insisted that they were rigged and were just a waste of money. You found them entertaining to play regardless.

“I’ll be keeping my promise too,” Asahi told you with a firm nod, a determined look crossing his eyes. “Any prize you want, I’ll win it for you!”

“Any prize?” You asked mischievously, teasing him with your tone. Asahi swallowed a little nervously, chuckling at just how easy it was for you to tease him.

“Any,” he repeated, nodding again. “Now come on, you can pick our first game!” He told you happily, his eyes glancing around at the growing number of people joining the area. “If you want,” he said, offering out his arm to you. “I just don’t want you to get lost,” he admitted, a rosiness to his cheeks.

You beamed up at him, needing no excuse to take his arm, “Lucky for me, you’re so tall, I’d be able to spot you if I got separated from you,” you pointed out happily, your eyes scanning the games around you. Bright flashing lights and the sounds of people laughing and talking with each other made you smile, trying to find something that drew your eye.

You and Asahi spent a lot of time laughing at each other, stupidly spending too much money on games that were definitely way too difficult. You both did happen to win some prizes, small little children’s toys and small chocolates at the balloon popping station, little goldfish at the goldfish scooping station (which you both ended up gifting to kids nearby since neither one of you thought it would be good to carry them around with the plans you had ahead of you), and even some cute masks at a stand where you got to pick a ball with a number in it. 

Asahi kept nudging you about prizes you may want, eager to be able to gift you something to bring back home with you, “There has to be something you’re looking at,” he smiled, patting your head gently when you insisted that it really wasn’t that big of a deal. The two of you walked some more, your hand soon finding its way to his and your heart trying not to leap out of your chest because his hand was just so soft and calloused at the same time, fitting perfectly with yours. As the two of you walked to other stations, your eyes widened as they noticed  a cute plushie stand, “Oooh! I found it! The prize I want!” You laughed, pointing up to the dangling plushie of a cute bear. 

“You got it!” Asahi’s face lit up now that he had a target to win. The game was simple enough (or so it looked) - aim the water gun at the target and try to get your bar filled faster than the timer could run out. The first two games that you and Asahi had paid for, you ended up splashing each other a little, and running out of time to hit the target. Giggling like children, you each paid for one more turn and Asahi seemed determined to win this one. 

It took a few more tries but Asahi was brimming with pride as he finally got to win you a toy. “I’m starting to think I should’ve just taken you to a toy store and bought you something,” he teased as he helped you put the plushie in your backpack. You giggled as you whirled around a little, still smiling up at him as you posed playfully with the little bear’s head poking out like he was a companion pet. 

“Aww but then I wouldn’t get to see how competitive you get,” you joked, poking his arm. “I know you play a competitive sport, Asahi, but honestly, I expected you to give up a long time ago!”

“What? Give up? Pfft,” Asahi waved the idea dismissively, smiling to himself shyly, “Who could give up when you’re smiling at me like that? Totally worth the money.”

“Oh ya?” You laughed, hugging his arm as the two of you started to walk around again. “Well I’ll be extra loving to this plushie, since you got it for me. He’ll have an honorary place on my bed!”

Asahi tried his best not to be jealous of a plushie because it’s not appropriate for you to think like that Asahi, omg please stop thinking like that, he scolded himself internally. But still. Even just seeing how happy you were as you stopped to look at yourself in a nearby mirror, checking out how the bear stuffy looked in your backpack - you were. Adorable. Asahi’s heart was fluttering so bad, it was like a better version of his panic before a volleyball game.

“We’ve still got those chocolates if you’re in the mood,” Asahi remembered suddenly, nodding towards a quieter space of the festival. “Would you like to sit and just eat them?”

You nodded eagerly, the two of you sneaking away from the bright lights and loud sounds, sitting on a park bench and unwrapping tiny chocolates for each other.

“Asahi, isn’t your hair getting annoying?” You asked, noticing how his bun was slowly starting to fall from its original placement.

Asahi blinked, having not even noticed. His hand went to the back of his hand, groaning a little as he realized he must look like a caveman with the way his hair was feeling, “Damn. I think I stretched this one out too much,” he mumbled, tugging the rubber band from his hair.

Your eyes widened as you noticed the elastic that was very much so not meant for hair that he had pulled out from his locks, “Asahi, have you been using office supplies for your hair?” You gaped, snatching from his fingers.

“Y-Yeah? I didn’t have anything else at home,” he admitted sheepishly, feeling like he had committed some sort of a felony the way you were looking at him.

“Asahi! You’ll rip out your hair like that!” You scolded him playfully, tugging your backpack into your lap and digging into one of the smaller pockets. “Here!” You handed him a hair elastic, smiling up at him. “You can keep this one. And here’s another for emergencies or if it stretches out, okay?”

Asahi stared at the black hair ties in his hands like they were gold coins, eyes wide, “Oh… thank you, Y/N!”

You giggled as you watched him swiftly put his hair up, a smile on his face as he wiggled his head and his hair seemed to stay put. He happily wore the other one on his wrist, running his fingers over it slowly. “Now you look extra handsome,” you teased him, laughing at the way his cheeks tinted pink. He shoved your shoulder playfully, bashfully looking away and tugging out the little bag of candies and chocolates the two of you had won.

“I never thanked you for coming with me,” you said suddenly, opening one of the chocolates. 

“Thanked me?” Asahi repeated in surprise. “There’s no need to thank you - why wouldn’t I come with you?” He chuckled, plopping a candy into his mouth.

“Honestly? I didn’t think you liked me,” you laughed, watching as Asahi almost choked hearing you.

“What?! Why? How could anyone not like you?”

You giggled as you looked up to the sky, thinking about the first few times you had encountered the big tall third year, “Well when we first met, you would barely look at me. And Suga told me you were scared of me,” you admitted, laughing some more as Asahi groaned.

“Of course he did. I wasn’t… scared of you,” Asahi grumbled nervously. “You were just… you have such a presence around. It was almost too easy to start falling for you.”

Your face was slowly starting to warm up as Asahi admitted these things to you, his cheeks going red, “F-Falling for me?” You repeated in surprise.

“Are you that surprised?” Asahi asked, laughing at your expression this time. “You’re always so supportive of the team, you’re funny, and smart, and you’ve got an incredible smile… could you blame me for falling?”

Your face is more than warm now - it’s burning. You can feel your whole chest tightening as you pinch your arm slightly, surprised that Asahi is saying all this because you can’t deny your feelings for him either, but also because you never expected him to be so upfront about it.

“I’m sorry if I’m being too blunt about it,” he apologized quickly, noting the continued stunned look on your face. “But I can’t let the rest of the team show you just how they feel about you without telling you how I feel about you too,” he smiled, reaching over to pat your head gently. “Is that alright?”

You nodded eagerly, smiling nervously into your lap as you tried to think of what to say, “It’s more than alright, Asahi,” you insisted, taking his hand in yours and playing with his fingers nervously.

Asahi’s heart felt lighter hearing you say that, smiling to himself as he watched you some more because you were just too pretty to take his eyes off of you. The two of you started to walk again, fingers intertwined as you walked down the paths between the festival, talking about what he was thinking about doing after high school, if he wanted to continue playing volleyball, and all the life aspirations you had for yourself down the line. 

As the two of you got down to the photobooths station, both of your steps slowed as if both of you were trying to spend just a little bit more time with each other. “I really liked spending time with you, Y/N,” Asahi smiled, reaching down to press a quick kiss on your cheek. “I hope when you look at that bear every day, you’ll think of me in a positive way.”

You smiled up at him, squeezing his hand gently as you tried not to immediately faint at the feeling of his soft lips on your skin, “I don’t think I could ever think of you negatively, Asahi,” you told him, your hands slowly separating. You walked a little ways backwards, the two of you just waving at each other and laughing like little kids at a park before you were swept away in the crowd and Asahi couldn’t see you anymore. He smiled to himself as he felt the ghost presence of your hand still in his, trying to seal the feeling into his memory. His eyes grazed over the hair elastic of yours that was still around his wrist, vowing silently to never take it off unless it was for volleyball practice or a game because you had given it to him and it was probably the best gift he could’ve asked for.

As he walked around the festival to meet up with the others, he decided maybe Daichi had been right - if you had asked him to leave everything behind and just spend the whole day with you, Asahi would’ve left with you in a heartbeat too.

taglist going to be in a reblog because apparently it didn’t work the first time lol

[lepusrufus]

The tl:dr (and also the mandatory content warning) is Bela's biological mom was an abusive piece of shit and the hallucinations don't hesitate to dig that up from her subconscious. And then she panics.

But without further ado, here's the short little thing i wrote for this:

---

There was a gentle sense of calmness in working inside the greenhouse. Soft chirping from the birds outside provided a much welcomed background noise as Laura was repotting the… fifteenth plant? Maybe sixteenth, if the group on her left, on different shelves or the stone floor, was anything to go by.

She let out a sigh, choosing to take a break and roll her shoulders for a bit, her back having gone stiff from the position she was standing in. She stretched her arms high in the air, flexing her hands still covered in the thick gardening leather gloves. They were slightly muddy and definitely needed a wash.

A faint buzzing of insect wings caught her attention. It stopped right outside the glass doors, and then got replaced by the sound of heels against stone, coming in her direction.

Laura paid it no mind, busying herself with a pair of shears and realizing that they needed to be sharpened.

A small chuckle escaped her lips when a pair of hands suddenly found their place around her waist. The hands were promptly followed by Bela's chin resting on her left shoulder, complete with a curtain of blonde hair.

"Came to distract me?" Laura asked jokingly.

"I would never," came the reply, although Bela's slender fingers were already hooking around the bow at the back of the dirty leather apron she was wearing.

Laura let her work her way through the double knot she had tied there, even letting out a small laugh at an almost inaudible huff of frustration.

Soon enough though, the bow was undone and Bela spinned her around, placing her hands on the desk Laura was working at, one on each side of her hips, effectively trapping her in place. Not that Laura had any complaints, she simply leaned back against the wooden edge and pulled the apron over her head. It fell on the floor when Bela decided to not grant her the grace of hanging it on a hook, instead tilting her chin upwards and capturing her lips in a hungry kiss.

The kiss was broken as soon as Laura's hand came close to finding its way on her lover's back to pull her closer. Bela grabbed her wrist and gave her a smirk.

"Not looking forward to getting mud all over this."

"Then maybe you shouldn't be in the gardens," Laura matched her expression with a devious smile, but started to pull off her gloves at a tortuously slow pace. One finger at a time, while not breaking eye contact.

Bela wasn't about to let her win their little teasing game however. Her mouth was not needed in pulling off a pair of gloves after all. She leaned down again, lips meeting in a tender kiss that soon turned more passionate when her teeth nibbled on Laura's lower lip, eliciting a small groan.

Any kind of will to tease flew out the window then, the gloves off and thrown somewhere to the side where other tools had been left. Laura pulled her closer by the waist, bodies now almost flush against each other, while Bela was busy leaving a trail of kisses along her jaw. Her hands gingerly made their way up, across soft black fabric and a frilly collar. Fingertips finally found their place on a pale cheek, thumb caressing the soft curve of the jawline.

---

It felt like getting forcefully yanked backwards only to hit a brick wall, the impact leaving Bela dizzy and disoriented. The abyssal darkness that surrounded her like a black heavy fog, suffocating and oppressive, did not help either. The ground underneath her knees felt soft and mushy, almost like walking on moss in the dead middle of the night. Unseen but it's tendency to give way underfoot more than felt.

A choked groan flew past her lips. She felt breathless, like the unneeded oxygen she dearly craved at the moment refused to make its way into her lungs. All she felt was the heavy drowning taste of the darkness around her that seemed to settle in her very bones. It was sending a sensation of pure dread down her spine, panic threatening to take over.

Bela shook her head. Once. Twice. Three times, in an attempt to cast away the lightheadedness but it was all in vain. She wasn't sure if her vision was slowly overtaken by black splotches or it was just that dark.

Her eyes uselessly snapped to the sound of booming footsteps coming directly from her right.

The darkness parted in swirling ashy mist to let the figure step closer, and the sight made Bela scramble to get away. She didn't know the woman, but she seemed so painfully familiar that, were it not for the terror that seemed to grip her heart and cruelly squeeze it, she would've groaned in frustration. Looking up, her blurry vision went over the black attire and rigid posture, with squared shoulders and hands clasped at the front. Further up, blonde locks were held back in an intricate hairstyle, and icy blue eyes looked down with nothing but hatred.

The woman's features were twisted in a deep scowl, nostrils flaring in an angry exhale and lips almost parting in a snarl. It made Bela gulp and muscle memory screamed for her to shield her face.

"Why are you here," the woman's booming voice came out more like a statement than a question. She shouldn't be there. She was in the way.

Bela stumbled on her answer, trembling voice betraying her. "I don't- I don't know-... I'm sorry," the words came out wobbly and barely above a panicky whisper.

Then hands were on the collar of her blouse, disregarding the tearing sound as she was lifted to her feet only to slam backwards into a wall that she could've sworn wasn't there before. "One thing you have to do. Just one," the words came out from between gritted teeth as the woman held her in place, fabric held into a balled fist and squeezing Bela's neck uncomfortably. "Just stay out of my way," she continued, using the other hand to grab her face, nails digging into the soft skin and making her eyes prick with tears. "And you can't even do that right."

Bela shut her eyes when tears started to threaten falling out and took a shuddering breath that came far too close to turning into a pathetic sob. She tried squirming her way out of the vice-like grip the other woman had on her, but that only gained her another angry slam against whatever unseen surface she was being held against. It made her see stars for a moment and she almost missed the next words thrown at her.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

She snapped her eyes open on instinct, tears flowing down her cheeks and blurring her vision. Even through the tears however, she saw the woman's features change and morph, blonde locks darkening into black and the skin slowly taking on a far more ashy and pale tone. Even her frame had gotten taller, much taller, dragging Bela up with her and scratching at her scalp as it moved against the rough surface behind her.

The only thing that stayed the same, was the disgusted scowl cruelly thrown her way.

"You can't even do that right," her mother repeated, voice almost unrecognizable from the dripping malice that was usually reserved solely for the vermin that was about to be thrown in the dungeons.

"N-no mother, I'm sorry," Bela choked out, hands grabbing meekly at the fist holding her blouse.

The hand on her face slid down, leaving bleeding stinging marks on her skin. Bela's eyes widened with horror when she heard the tell-tale metallic sound of her mother's talons, together with a glint in the corner of her eye.

She had no time to react before the five sharp claws plunged into her flesh, tearing their way through skin and organs and cracking the bones of her ribcage. She tried to curl in on herself, as much as her position allowed. The searing pain made her choke out a sob that came threateningly close to a scream. She could feel blood starting to coat her skin and soak into her clothes, even making its way into her lungs and suffocating her. A violent cough sent a small crimson rivulet flowing down her chin.

"-'m sorry. Sorry," she slurred, voice warped by the pain and the crying and the now choking sensation of blood stuck in her throat.

---

Laura jerked her hand back in a moment, ony to feel Bela stumble backwards into the wooden desk placed on the other side of the small, hall-like greenhouse.

Bela bent her body forward, blonde hair almost hiding the tears streaming down her face, and slowly slid down onto her knees on the cold stone underneath. Her shoulders shook jerkily with sobs as she all but clawed at her sternum, the pain from her mother's claws seared into her mind.

The scene made something in Laura's chest snap painfully, a river of apologies flowing from her lips. Before she could do anything however, grab for the previously discarded gloves, try to comfort her, anything, Bela's form broke apart into a frenetic swarm of flies. The buzzing felt almost deafening now, but the sound soon died down as she flew out of the open doors.

It left Laura speechless for a moment, another apology frozen on her tongue while tears were starting to blur her vision. The few seconds it took her to move felt like eternities washing over her. She bit down a small sob while looking down at her hands, the black fingertips that turned her skin a dark ashy color almost down to her wrists seeming more disgusting than ever before.

[narrators-journal]

Step four

CW: Congratulations reader-chan! You’re expecting! Illumi also really cranks up the yandere side, nothing too bad, but he’s definitely not proving to be a stable man in this part.

Previous part: here

First part: here

Illumi found his mother in the family library, doing some research for a job she'd gotten.        "Mother, sorry for interrupting, but I have a rather pressing dilemma with my relationship." He said, and he could see the woman perk up slightly, but she only hummed and stayed focused on her research,       "Sorry dear, I can't help right now, maybe try Gotoh." She spoke casually, but he could see in her body language that she was dying to hear about her eldest son's relationship.       "I was wondering if it would be inappropriate to bring her here so soon." he added, and like that her research was forgotten and she was instead offering him a seat beside her. So, he sat in the intricately carved wooden chair and filled her in on his dilemma with the concerns for your safety after finding out Hisoka knew your name, and the concern of pushing you away unnecessarily. "I don't want to put her in danger, but my research on dating says that bringing her here is something to do later on, when we've been together for more than a month." he explained, his mother digesting the information before speaking,                "This is a rather delicate situation...but since Morrow is here, it should be safe to leave her where she is. Maybe set some butlers as constant bodyguards, but hold off on bringing her around here. At least until I can prepare! Oh I'd have to get the chefs to cook a special meal for when your father and I finally meet your partner, and the mansion will have to be meticulously cleaned, and the gardens tended to!" Illumi sighed as his mother rambled on a tangent about how this sort of conflict was always so romantic in the novels she'd read and how she'd have to make sure the family was perfect so as to leave the best possible impression on you.        "Mother, I am being serious. I have worked with Hisoka before, he's a dangerously clever man. I don't want to risk him harming my future spouse," he reminded the woman, who savored her excitement for a moment longer before regaining her composure,         "I'm sorry dear, I just get so happy when I think about my sweet baby boy finally settling down," she said somewhat wistfully, and the assassin inwardly groaned. He was the eldest of at least five, he was far from her baby anymore, but he couldn’t really remind her of that without sending her into a sobbing fit. "anyway!" she chirped, drawing him back from his blank staring and practiced way of spacing out when she took advantage of the fact she was the only Zoldyck allowed to be mushy like this, "I really do think you should leave her where she is, at least for a bit longer. Once she comes to this mountain she won't be able to leave easily, and I'd hate for your future wife to turn out to be some spy or desperate journalist." While she said it in honesty, her voice lacked any real remorse. If you did turn out to be a threat, even Kikyo wouldn't hesitate to squash you like a bug. I think out of everyone to have after (y/n), mother would be the worst. Illumi thought as he pondered his mother's words, agreeing to keep you at your home for the time being. So, for the next few weeks Illumi alternated between jobs and returning to stalking you, but until he could rein in the possessive urge to kidnap you, he kept his distance. When he couldn't watch you himself, like when he was torturing Hisoka for adding extra steps to that job, he made sure someone was still there to ensure nothing bad happened to you. Another bonus of this set up he found was that the servants he had hidden nearby to watch you were able to warn him when you started acting odd. They couldn't exactly place why you were suddenly so anxious and slightly distraught though, so the ebony-haired assassin decided to finish the job he was on quickly when he found out and return to his secondary home. About a day after he'd returned, in the late afternoon, you knocked at his door, as he was expecting.         "Hello," he hummed as he opened the door to find you standing in the slightly chilly daylight fidgeting anxiously,         "Um...I think we need to talk." You said, your words shooting an arrow of anxiety into his heart, Is she going to break up with me? Should I have brought her home sooner?  Should I just grab her now? he asked himself, his dark, empty eyes scanning over your form to glean any information he could from your body language while he wrangled in his moment of panic, No. Invite her in, if she really is about to break up with you she'd be easier to subdue where no one can be a witness. he told himself, temporarily quelling the urge to snatch you up and refuse to let you go again and instead inviting you inside to talk out of the cool late spring air. Once inside you sat on his couch, too preoccupied with your own thoughts to mind the bit of mess in the room that Illumi was swift to sweep under the couch or toss out of sight. Your tense mood drove Illumi crazy, but he skillfully hid the fact that he was growing impatient with waiting and beginning to plan out a way to sedate you and take you home, keeping his focus on the dirty clothes he was throwing behind the chair and the garbage he was shoving into his pockets. simply sitting beside you after a while, awaiting whatever bad news you might have for him. Is she really going to try and break up with me? Damn it, I should've never let my mother talk me into this whole 'dating' thing. He thought bitterly, his own sliver of anxiety adding to the tense, heavy air you had already created. However, after an excruciatingly long stretch of time, you took a deep breath,        "Illumi, I t-think I'm...pregnant." you forced out, not looking at the dead-eyed assassin as the two of you fell into another stretch of silence while Illumi processed this news. Pregnant? We've only had sex twice, is she really that fertile? He pondered, an honest smile spreading across his usually expressionless face after it set in. In a flash, he'd jumped up and scooped you up, hugging your possibly smaller body to his tightly, making you squeal,         "this is wonderful news!" he said, making you smile and turn a light pink,             "Oh, well if I'd known you'd be so happy about it, I wouldn't have stressed so much," you laughed awkwardly, letting Illumi hug you for a moment longer before he put you down again and cleared his throat, his face returning to his bland expression,          "Though, this does put a rush on putting together a wedding." he hummed, not noticing the way your eyes widened          "uh? w-wedding?" you squeaked, drawing his attention out of his thoughts and back to you. Your panicky expression was rather cute to him, you were so innocent,          "Well yes, I was originally planning to take things slow, but now I can't afford to wait. Not to worry though, I'm sure my mother will help you plan it," he assured, but judging by the increasing panic in your (e/c) eyes, it didn't work, "is something wrong, (y/n)?"          "I-I don't want to marry you?" You squeaked, and while your words did sting, he knew this might happen,          "Well, I can't let you parent this child without me, and marriage is the perfect way to ensure I stay involved as well as that you and our child are safe from harm." He explained, but you shook your head,          "Illumi, no! It's only been a-a few months since we've started dating, it's far too soon to marry!" you tried to explain, but he waved your arguments away,          "dating is already a redundancy, I've been very patient in waiting this long before moving on to marriage," he explained, getting a bit annoyed at your horrified look. It was intriguing to see you get flustered and slightly scared, but marriage was not something that deserved this sort of reaction. He sighed, I can't let this continue, the stress is not good for the baby, he reminded himself before speaking again, "Please explain to me why you are so against getting married. I don't think I'm understanding your points clearly enough." For a moment, you struggled to find words, obviously confused and shocked, but he made sure to be patient,        "I-Illumi, it's too soon for marriage, that's something for later on down the road, i-if we even make it that far." You tried to explain, but the assassin grimaced, so you spoke again "Plus, it's perfectly fine if we don't get married before the baby's born, we can still parent them together," Your words made his expression darken further. Finally, you sighed dejectedly, "or...I could always just termi-" Illumi cut you off by grabbing you by your shoulders, his grip tight, nearly painfully so he was sure, but he was not about to allow the entertaining of such ideas,         "You will NOT harm that baby, (y/n)." he said darkly, watching tears well up in your (e/c) eyes from fear and maybe pain. That made him calm down, he had to keep his temper in check before his malicious aura was the one to harm his future wife. "If you try anything to put yourself or our baby in danger, I will be forced to keep you under strict observation." he warned, his voice not holding any room for argument when he spoke, but than he tried to relax, hugging your slightly shaking form to him again.        "It'll be okay, mother will plan a good wedding and you'll be a good mother when the baby's born." he assured, running his hand through your (h/l), (h/c) hair in an attempt to calm you down and show that despite his flash of temper, the excitement of your good news still zapped through his veins. "I'll keep you safe, i promise." He could feel the shiver his words sent through you, but fear was easier to manage than defiance. After a moment though, he let you go again, "I'll have some butlers help you pack your most necessary things, tomorrow I'll take you to the estate." he decided, and when you went to argue again he gave you a cold look, "you can't say anything that will change my mind. The Zoldyck estate is the safest place for you, so go home and pack." he ordered, his tone firm enough for you to get the message. You didn't get a choice.

[akakeiiji]

Headcanons for how they will confess to their best friend that they have feelings for them ? (Iwa, Tobio, Kuroo)

I LITERALLY SAID I WOULDN’T DISAPPEAR AGAIN BUT SIS?? MY SCHOOL LITERALLY BOMBARDED ME WITH SO MUCH WORK THIS WEEK EIJNHERBVER 

Anyway, I hope you like this 🥺💖

-`,✎ How Iwaizumi, Kageyama and Kuroo would confess to their best friend

Iwaizumi Hajime

He’s probably the most hesitant to confess out of the three

He loves you so fricking much and he wants nothing more than to tell you because keeping his feelings for you to himself physically hurts

But the thing is he doesn’t want to lose you

He values your friendship so much and he’d rather suffer in silence than risk losing you from his life

But it soon becomes too much because instead of his feelings dissipating overtime like he thought it would, it just grew stronger and stronger

Oikawa was also pretty insistent in him confessing, he would have taken longer to confess if Oikawa hadn’t annoyed him into it

He would probably act really weird before he confesses; he’s strangely silent, easily distracted as he went through his confession speech for the nth time in his head, and has this persistent blush on his cheeks the whole time

Not much is able to get to Iwaizumi like this so it was pretty weird seeing him acting liking that

You’d probably think he was sick or something

He’d have this big plan in his head for how to confess to you, one made by Oikawa most likely he’s the one most invested in this relationship

However, once it comes to actually doing it, Iwaizumi would forget everything his friends practically drilled into his head

You always had such a strong effect on him, his mind practically blanked on the spot when you turned your full attention to him, sending him that large smile that always reduced him to a blubbering mess

That speech he had memorized? Gone. It’s gone. Oikawa’s writing was for naught.

He’d be uncharacteristically panicky and sheepish, his face a persistent shade of red

It would take a while for him to actually get to the point, he’d go on and on about how he didn’t want to lose you as a friend and how he understood if you were upset or something so you’d think he was about to relay bad news to you

“Just spit it out, Hajime!”

“—I…I like you, okay.”

“Wait, what?”

HE’D PRACTICALLY EXPLODE FROM EMBARRASSMENT, HE’D BE EVEN MORE FLUSTERED AFTER ADMITTING IT OUT LOUD

He just automatically assumed that you didn’t feel the same but who wouldn’t fall for Iwaizumi?

If you thought he couldn’t get any more red and flustered, then you’re wrong

When you told him you felt the same way he practically passed out

Basically, Iwa may not look but he is just a soft bby and I would give the world to him if I could

Kageyama Tobio

First of all, he wouldn’t even realize that he liked you

He would be so oblivious of his ridiculously non-platonic feelings for you for such a long time

He hasn’t had many friends in the past, especially not one with a relationship as close as yours before, so he just assumed that what he was feeling was normal around friends

Oh, his heart just skipped a beat when you laughed at something he said? Probably just because he’s happy for making his friend laugh

He’s blushing because you hugged him after he aced a test you two studied for? He’s probably just not used to such affection

He just had a strangely vivid dream about kissing you? Weird dreams are normal, it probably doesn’t mean anything

This would go on for months and it’s so frustrating for everyone around you all because you two are perfect for each other and you both very obviously like one another

bUT YOU’RE BOTH DENSE AF

In the end, one of Kageyama’s teammates would probably have to slap him into reality most likely tsukishima or hinata

And he’d literally have a mind blown moment

He wouldn’t be able to sleep that night because he’d spend the whole time tossing and turning in his bed as he mulled over his feelings for you

He would have no idea what to do, feelings and romance weren’t his strong suit, he’s never confessed to someone before

He’d probably google how to confess to a friend and read all those juvenile articles that don’t really give good advice and he’d just eat them up thinking they were the real deal

However, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to try out these “tips and tricks” because he ends up slipping it out on accident

It would happen after a game, Kageyama would be giddy and high on the adrenaline from the game and from their win

You’d immediately rush over to him, just as happy as the team members and jump into his arms, cheering and telling him about all your favorite plays

And as he watches, literally so love-stricken at the sight of you so happy, it would just come out

And the two of you would just freeze, Kageyama would turn beet red, panicking and pushing you away

He’d try to deny it but the damage was already done—or so he thought

He’d literally think that he just ruined your entire friendship and he’d lose not only his crush but his closest friend but you immediately took him in your arms again telling him that you felt the same way

Kageyama would literally be so overwhelmed with emotions, he’d short circuit right away

Kuroo Tetsurou

THIS H O E

He fell for you right away, he just couldn’t help it

But he just initially thought that his feelings for you were just a short-lived crush, nothing but a little thing he could laugh about later down the line so he didn’t really feel the need to tell you

But instead, your friendship only grew stronger which in turn made his feelings grow as well

His supposed short-lived crush ended up growing into something unprecedentedly uncontrollable and intense that he couldn’t brush it aside anymore

He’d literally start flirting with you at some point, sending you cheesy pick-up lines and compliments every so often

But instead of you getting the hint, you interpreted his flirting as some new way of teasing of his

You would simply laugh, sometimes even flirt back—which would make Kuroo more flustered that he would like to admit—and brush it off

This would go on for so long, it ended up becoming an inside joke between you two and it became normal for your friends to just walk in on you two flirting back and forth playfully

Sometimes you two would even tell others that you were dating or were married

Every single time you flirt back or say stuff like this, and I mean every single time, Kuroo’s heart practically does cartwheels in his chest

Whenever he can’t keep in his emotions, he hides it by reacting dramatically on purpose so that you’d think it was just another bit of his

And for the most part, you did; you never questioned whether or not his words held any truth behind them and always assumed it was just a joke to him

Slowly, as his feelings intensified, his advances would grow bolder as well

He literally outright said that he liked you multiple times, he would say it without a trace of mockery or jest

bUT YOU JUST LAUGHED AND SAID YOU’D START PLANNING THE WEDDING AND WALKED AWAY

You didn’t complain, of course, your crush was practically throwing himself at you but you did begin questioning why he was doing this in the first place

And Kuroo would feel a mixture of warmth and frustration

Warmth because holy crap you’re so cute

And utter frustration because yoU’RE sO dEnSE

“Why are you even doing this, Tetsu? Are you this lonely?”

“I—you—oh my god—”

He’d slap his warm cheeks with his hands, rubbing his eyes as he thought of what to say to properly bring his point across

He’d grab your hands and look you straight in your eyes

“Listen, I am being 100% percent serious right now: I like you, I like you a lot.”

And only then did it click that all those months of flirting, joking confessions of love and other acts of affection were all genuine, not just for you but for him as well

You two would literally be so relieved because you didn’t know how long you could take your arrangement anymore, it was both riveting and painful at the same time

I swear none of your friends were surprised when you two started dating for real, they were probably more relieved than you two were because they didn’t know how much more they could take of watching you two pine dolefully for each other 

[coconutstars]

Right people at the wrong time p.II

Part I Part III Part IV

Pairing: Stiles + reader   Prompt: Perhaps, we were the right people at the wrong time Summary: Two years has passed and reader is back in Beacon Hill. She has neither spoken nor seen Stiles (or Scott for that matter) since the huge fight. But we all know Beacon Hills is a small town and BH high is an even smaller school so yeah, shit’s about to go down.  A/N: Sooo...This fic is going to be so much longer than I'd initially anticipated. There’s so much I want to squeeze in. I love writing it though and hopefully y’all love reading it. I’m thinking there’s probably going to be 1? possibly 2? more parts. We’ll see. Depends if you guys want a continuation. Enjoy, and as always, I  appreciate constructive criticism on my work so... yeah feel free to message me. Also those of you who know me know I'm the master of mixing past and present tense, just roll with it :’) 

[ :: ]

You weren’t sure if it was fate or coincidence that had brought your family back to Beacon Hills. At this point it didn’t really matter. You were here, regardless if you wanted to or not. You were panicking in the front seat of your car, mentally preparing yourself to get out and walk through those double doors to Beacon Hills high. ‘You’ve got this’ you mumbled under your breath. ‘You can do this. Just breath’. You were gripping the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles were beginning to whiten. ‘it’s a big school. He’s not…” you quickly dismissed the thought brewing in your mind. You’d been trying to convince yourself all morning that your nerves had absolutely nothing to do with the brown eyed boy you’d once loved. They boy you’d gotten into a huge fight with and not seen or spoken to in two years. The boy who’d explicitly explained he hated you. Oh no. Your nerves had absolutely nothing to do with him. 

You leaned forward and rested your head against the steering wheel.

‘Get. Your. Shit. Together.’ You whispered.

You knew you looked like an idiot. But who cared? You had bigger things to worry about than kids passing by thinking you were crazy. Worries like accidently running into Sti… NO. You scolded yourself. You refused to even think of his name. He was a closed chapter. A done deal. Besides, you hadn’t thought of him in almost two years and you certainly weren’t going to start now. It’s just…things had ended so incredibly bad between you. Stiles had hurt you. Like, really hurt you. His words had stuck with you for longer than you cared to admit. He’d made you insecure and to this very day you still couldn’t be yourself around friends without his words echoing in your head. “You’re needy, clingy and just a charity case Scott and I have been trying to shake since 8th grade” It hurt.

Exhaling a breath, you sat back up and cast a glance at the watch around your wrist. Shit. You really needed to get out of the car, or you’d be forced to walk into class late. Everyone would notice and the teacher would most likely force you to stand in front of the class and introduce yourself. You’d stutter and get all flushed and… sigh. It just wasn’t an option. Mustering your strength, you got out of the car and, with an anxious moan, walked through the doors to BH high.

Ten minutes later and you were making your way to your first class of the day. It’d been a while since you last walked the halls of beacon hills high, but you seemed to still be able to find your way around. With one arm gripping your textbooks, you used your free hand to bring your travel coffee cup to your lips. You weren’t sure if it was the caffeine or nerves that were making your hands shake, most likely a mix of both. Looking at the plaque beside the door you made sure it was the right classroom before stepping in. You were just about to walk to an empty seat when you stopped dead in your tracks.

Oh god.

Oh god.

Oh.

God.

For a moment it was like you completely forgot how to function.

Your heart was racing. You had this panicky feeling of not know what to do because right in front of you, propped up on a worn-out desk across the room was him. Stiles. For a moment your eyes met, and it was like the air was sucked out of the room. The only thing you could focus on was the sensation of utter panic coursing through your veins.

Instantly you shifted your gaze and slid into a desk in the back of the room as far away from him as you could possibly get. This was literally the one thing. The. One. Thing. you’d prayed wouldn’t happen. But hey, when had things ever gone your way?

It was impossible to focus during class. You were on edge the entire time. Every part of your body was tense. Even your hands. You’d hid a balled up fists in your lap while the other held on to the coffee cup for dear life. Thank god it was made of hard plastic and not paper. It would have crimpled in your hand like wet clay. When the bell finally rang you were out of your seat before anyone even had time to pack up their things.

Second period was way better. You ended up talking to the girl seated next to you in class. She offered you to sit with her and her friends during lunch and you’d gladly agreed. “They’re dorks but I love them” she said with a bubbly laugh as you made your way across the courtyard. “aren’t we all” you replied with a small smile. There was something so genuine about this girl. So kind and good. “Oh, there they are!” she raised her hand to wave just as a familiar voice called her name. “Kira!” ‘ARE YOU KIDDING ME’ you screamed internally. Instant panic. Scott was sitting on one of the metal benches smiling widely at Kira. Beside him sat a short, blonde guy in lacrosse gear and Stiles. Stiles. God damn Stiles.

Seriously. Who had you killed in your previous life to deserve this kind of hell? “Come on” Kira smiled, nudging you forward. You hadn’t realized you’d stop moving. “Uh…I’m going to…” you began pointing backwards but Kira had already hooked her arm in yours and forcing you forward. “They’re really nice” she said cheerfully. Scott had raised his hand to wave back at Kira but lowered it as he saw you. He looked thoughtful for a minute but then his face shone up in a smile. All you could think was “a charity case Scott and I have been trying to shake since 8th grade” “a charity case Scott and I…” The distance was closing in and your pulse and nerves were going absolutely haywire.

To make matters worse, walking in from the opposite side of the yard, strawberry blonde hair moving slightly as she moved, was Lydia Martin.

Her green eyes searched across the yard until finally finding her target. Oh. OH. Your eyes widened in shock. With determined steps Lydia walked down the pathway, a grin curving her lips, right to Stiles.

[we-are-inevitable]

so i'll try to talk refined // javid (ch. 1)

A/N: this is so self indulgent holy fuck

WARNINGS: implied sexual content, drunken flirting, one night stands

SUMMARY: It was supposed to be a one night stand. One night, one too many drinks, one stupid decision that wouldn't have an actual effect on anything David cared about, aside from giving him a much needed night off.

But, when his one night stand turns out to be a new every day part of his life for the foreseeable future, David has... some choices to make.

For starters: choose to ignore his obvious attraction to the muralist working in his library, or choose to face the challenge head on.

If only he knew how to navigate this plot twist.

Tag List: @tarantulas4davey @oof-musicals​ @panicky-pancakes (let me know if you’d like to be added!)

Read On AO3!

David has never seen someone as gorgeous as the man sitting across from him at the bar.

Maybe that’s a somewhat straightforward statement. David has seen a lot of gorgeous people- he grew up in New York City, for crying out loud; he falls in love with someone new on the sidewalk every day, it seems. There’s just… something about this guy, though, that David is more than a little attracted to.

It’s probably his hair. David has always been a sucker for curls, and this guy’s hair is so curly on the ends- but he has a middle part, and his bangs-but-not-really-bangs are more wavy than curly, and it’s swooped back like some popular guy from the 90’s, or, like... Zayn Malik circa late 2014. Either way, David is loving it.

But that isn’t the only aspect of this guy that he’s loving.

For one, his eyes are the most striking golden brown that David has ever seen, and his tan skin is shining beautifully underneath the gaudy, in-your-face lights in the bar. If David stares hard enough, he can make out freckles dotting the expanse of his face, spread across a sharp jawline and even sharper cheekbones.

Needless to say, David is in love. Not literally, of course- David and ‘love’ don’t really mix well- but he’s never not going to be thinking about Random Guy in the Bar, so it’s kind of the same thing, right?

David almost considers going over to talk to him, but he falters. This is a... regular bar, probably, not one of the many gay bars David frequents, and he’s probably a straight guy with a low tolerance for getting hit on by dudes but, also, it’s 2021, and David is a little tipsy, so what’s really the harm in going over to talk to Random Guy? He might get punched, yeah, but David has taken worse. Much worse. There was that time in high school, when he kissed his boyfriend in the hall and was--

No, no, now is time to think happy thoughts, Tipsy David reminds himself.

Tipsy David is a lot braver than Sober David, and as he stands from his barstool and makes his way over to Random Guy, Tipsy David hopes that Sober David won’t have a black eye in the morning.

He takes in a deep breath as he approaches, but puts on a brave face as he comes up next to the guy. “Excuse me,” He starts, and pauses as the man whips around, eyes widening just slightly, and, oh, God, he’s even hotter up close. “I know this is a shot in the dark, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t tell you how attractive you are,” David says, as nonchalantly as he’s able to, while he leans against the bar counter.

The man stays silent for a few moments, and David can practically see the gears turning in his mind- before he’s flashing a megawatt smile at David and saying, “Thanks, man. That means a lot.”

Oh, sweet Jesus, that accent is thick. It’s classic New York- like, classic classic. Old New York classic. Just this side of a stereotype, but oh so genuine, and David is living for it. His voice is really nice, too; not very deep, but gravelly and kind of rough and hoarse and oh, why was this guy blessed with perpetual perfect morning-voice? He sounds like he just woke up and rolled out of bed, so rough and gorgeous.

But that’s beside the point, because this guy is clearly not picking up what David is putting down. That’s alright. Maybe a bit disappointing, but it’s not like David had any high hopes anyway.

David gives a nod and a smirk, standing up straight. “Just telling the truth,” he replies easily, then slaps his hand gently on the bar. “Have a good one.”

“You, too,” The guy says, staring up at David. He opens his mouth, as if to say something else, but instead he just offers a smile and a nod.

David nods back, turning to walk away, feeling pretty good about the interaction. He wasn’t punched, and wasn’t rejected, and--

“Hey, wait,” The man’s voice stops him in his tracks. David turns with a raised brow, taking in the man’s appearance once more- hair, eyes, freckles, skin, jeans and a plain henley with the sleeves rolled to his forearms- and, finally, the guy speaks again. “You… You ain’t too bad yourself, y’know.”

David blinks, confused, until he takes a slow step forward. “That so?” He asks with a hint of a grin.

The guy nods, then crosses his arms. “‘Course. I ain’t the only pretty boy here.”

“Ooh, pretty boy. That’s a new one,” David smirks, then leans against the bar. “So, pretty boy, answer me this. What would you say if I asked to sit with you?”

“Well, I’d probably ask what you’re drinkin’,” The man responds, then gestures for David to sit on the bar stool next to him. “What would your answer be, hypothetically?”

David’s smile widens, and he makes a show of thinking for a moment before speaking. “Well, if a hot guy asked me what I was drinking, I’d probably say a Manhattan with bourbon,” He teases, taking his seat. “And what would pretty boy be drinking, hm?”

“Pretty boy has a name,” He counters with a playful smirk, “and pretty boy is on his second margarita.”

Before David can respond, the man raises a hand and turns to the bartender. “‘Ey, Racer, c’mere,” he calls out, and soon, the bright-eyed blond is walking over, leaning over the bar. “Bring me two tequila shots, and a Manhattan. Bourbon.”

“On it, Cowboy,” The bartender- Antonio, or so it says on his nametag- responds with a wink.

“Cowboy,” David repeats as Antonio leaves, turning his attention to the man beside him. “Pretty boy, cowboy… You have some interesting nicknames.”

“Technically, ‘pretty boy’ ain’t a nickname. You’re the only one who calls me that, sweetheart,” The man smirks, resting his elbow against the bar.

“What else can I call you, then?” David asks, raising a brow as he leans in a bit closer- far enough away to not be in the guy’s personal space, but close enough to still hear him clearly over the booming party playlist blaring in the background.

The guy shrugs, grinning easily, then winks as he looks back at David. “You could start with ‘Jack’,” He replies.

Jack.

Such a generic name, but somehow, it’s just become the most attractive name in the history of ever.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jack,” David says with a wide grin, holding out a hand. “The name’s David.”

Jack reaches out to take David’s hand and give it a shake, and, fuck, David swears he feels sparks. He doesn’t really have time to think about it, though, considering that Antonio is back with their drinks, and Jack is smiling at David like he’s the only thing that matters.

***

An hour passes, and David finds himself particularly buzzed after a few more drinks- courtesy of Jack, who has not once left his side. They’re both just this side of tipsy, both happy and bubbly underneath the flashing lights of the bar, and are already on their cooldown; nursing cold waters and a shared appetizer to come back to at least semi-sober before they have to part ways.

Maybe part ways.

Truth be told, David would follow Jack back to his apartment in a heartbeat if Jack asked him to.

Because, well, Jack is seriously attractive. Muscles for days, a laugh that’s to die for, and there’s an underlying softness to him; he’s an artist. An actual artist. He’s a freelancer; he has a dual degree in graphic design and studio art, so he paints and makes logos and designs business cards and does murals all over the city and, wow, David falls more and more in love every second. Jack even mentioned he was going to be doing some mural at one of the libraries in the city, which made David’s heart skip a beat. A literary themed mural, done by a hot guy… David might just have to leave his own little library and venture across the city to find it.

As the clock on the wall draws ever closer to 11 p.m., David bites his lip. He glances over at Jack, who is already looking at him, and when he sees the hungry look in Jack’s eyes, he smirks. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“‘Cause you’re hot,” Jack says, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, “and I’m wonderin’ what it’d take to leave here with ya.”

David takes in a shuddering breath, licking his lips. “All you need to do is answer a question.”

“Oh?” Jack asks, placing a hand on David’s thigh. “And what would that question be?”

David looks him dead in the eyes. They’re both silent, energy sparking and crackling between each other; Jack’s eyes are dark, dark, dark, and David has to actively resist the urge to give in and kiss him right there against the counter. Slowly, David leans in close, lips barely brushing against Jack’s ear as he asks, “Your place or mine?”

Somehow, between one moment and the next, Jack is dragging David up the three steps into his townhouse, and as soon as the door is shut and locked with a distinct click, Jack has David pushed against the wall.

Distantly, David remembers leaving the bar- one owned by Jack’s friends, presumably, considering the fact that Antonio the Bartender and Mr. Redhead Bouncer Man both whistled when Jack escorted David out by the hand. He remembers walking down the block and turning left, and remembers the weight of Jack’s palm against his own; oddly intimate for the acts they’re about to commit, but welcome nonetheless.

But David doesn’t have time to think about that. Not as he places both hands on Jack’s cheeks and kisses him with all the passion he possesses.

Kissing Jack is exactly what David thought it would be: hot, hungry, competitive, fierce. Jack is strong, but within a few seconds, David has Jack backed against the front door, boxing the smaller man in with his arms.

“Oh, fuck,” Jack gasps as David kisses his neck, gently working the skin with just the barest bite of teeth.

David pulls back, glancing down into Jack’s dark eyes. “That’s the plan,” He says with a smirk, before diving back in to kiss Jack. It’s filthy, it’s fucking amazing, and Jack’s hands are in his hair and on his stomach and reaching around to grope his ass, pulling David ever closer.

“We need to- Bed,” Jack rasps out, but makes no move to leave the position; especially not when he leans up and begins his attack on the column of Davey’s throat. Thank God Sarah has extra makeup at David’s apartment; he’ll need it for work. Hannah might fire him on the spot if he walks into the library looking like a 'harlot'.

David taps Jack’s hip, and Jack seems to get the memo. Without breaking contact with David’s skin, Jack jumps and wraps his legs securely around David’s hips; David moans with the contact, bracing Jack with his hands as he blindly carries the man through the apartment. Had it been any other situation, David would have stopped to look around; he’s always been a sucker for interior design, and Jack has good taste.

But now, David only has one idea in mind.

Jack pulls away and gestures to a dark door, and as David opens it, he’s met with Jack’s bedroom, complete with red LED lights around the perimeter of the ceiling. How fitting, he thinks as he walks forward and all but throws Jack onto the bed. David kneels between Jack’s legs and undoes Jack’s belt with a skillful hand- he’s not at all new at this, he knows what he’s doing- and within seconds, David has Jack’s stupid, threadbare henley up and over his head, tossed precariously to a random corner of the bedroom.

Two things happen at once.

First, Jack sits up, looking more vulnerable than he’s looked during the entire night, and second, David notices the two faded surgical scars on either side of his chest, right beneath his pecs.

For a moment, everything is silent as David’s gaze flicks back to Jack’s face. He looks him again, scans his chest, and his toned stomach, and his hip bones that are jutting out under the waistband of his jeans. He's caught in his own head, stricken by how fucking hot Jack is shirtless, and he must be stuck for a few too many seconds, because--

Jack clears his throat, an awkward little sound, but one that catches David’s attention nonetheless. David looks back down and makes eye contact with Jack, who takes in a deep breath and asks, “This… Is this still alright?”

David raises a brow, and breathes, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Before Jack can respond, David pulls off his own shirt and tosses it to the side, then leans back down and kisses Jack. His hands fine Jack’s hips and he gives a harsh squeeze, which makes Jack gasp and hurry to undo the button and zipper of David’s jeans.

David doesn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, he pushes Jack down into the mattress, kissing his neck, then moving to his chest, his abs, trailing lower and lower with every movement, until Jack is panting, whining, begging, until Jack is raising his hips, until Jack is pushing his jeans down.

Until Jack is gasping for breath, thighs bracketing David’s head, moaning a mantra of, “God, yes, David, please, more, more, oh, fuck.”

***

“David! Nice to see ya, hun. Did you enjoy your weekend off?”

David looks over his shoulder as he shuts the front door. His boss, Hannah, is waving him up to the front; he walks to the counter and nods, smiling as he runs a hand through his hair. “I really needed it, yeah. Thank you, Han.”

“Sweetheart, if you ever need a break, you just let me know, okay?” She shoots him a pointed look, and smiles gently. “Go clock in, hun. We got a shipment in the back that needs to be sorted and shelved.”

“Yes, ma’am,” David responds with a grin. He drops off his leather messenger bag behind the front desk, then types his number into the keypad to clock in and log into his account. Once he’s done, David walks to the storage room in the back and stares at the piles of books in front of him.

With a smile, he grabs the first stack. Hannah called him a ‘strange boy’ once, for the very same reason. Apparently, her old employees here at Duane Street Library in downtown all hated sorting day with a passion, but David finds it relaxing. It puts him in a good mood.

Not that he needs this to be in a good mood after Friday night.

David’s hands flex around the spine of a book at the thought. God, he needs to get that out of his head. It’s been, what, two days since then, but he’s still thinking about... Jack. He needs to let go; it’s not like he’s ever going to see the guy again, right? David has no plans to go back to that bar; it was nice, but he only went because there was an event he wasn’t really interested in at the bar he usually goes to- a gay bar, with frequent drag shows and performers who know David by name. A bar that has Britney and Gaga blaring at all times, not one with classic rock.

But, well, that bar seemed like the perfect place for Jack No-Last-Name, and Jack No-Last-Name seemed to frequent it, so it’s highly unlikely that David is ever going to run into Jack No-Last-Name again. It’s a big city, and he’s just a guy from a one night stand that David desperately needed in order to give himself a release.

Figuratively and literally, he thinks.

Eugh. Gross.

Pushing Jack out of his mind, David starts stacking the books onto the rolling cart they keep in the corner. He tries to at least keep them organized- first by genre, then alphabetical- and once he has about forty books on the cart, he pulls it out into the main part of the building. He starts shelving the mystery section first; it’s closest to the storage room, and it’s fairly easy to figure everything out. This mystery section is fun; all of the book spines are hidden, as the books are shelved backwards, and the only tell is the initial of the author's name laminated on the shelves.

There is a sign next to the shelf that says, of course, if you’re looking for a specific book and don’t want to search, come find an employee, blah, blah, but for the most part their guests like this little fun thing they do. It is the mystery section, after all; it’s why they hide the titles, it’s why there’s a basket of books wrapped at the end, it’s why the wrapped books only have the author’s initials and a small, vague summary written on the back.

All very Pinterest-y ideas, but fun nonetheless.

Once all of those books are meticulously shelved, David moves onto nonfiction, and then fiction, and by the time he’s finished with A through G, he’s due for another trip back into storage. H through L follows, then M through Q, then R through Z. When he’s done with the actual alphabetized sections, he gets to start on the fun little pop-up sections throughout the library.

BookTok section; the books that TikTok has been raving about, as an effort to foster more online engagement.

Read with Pride; pride month section. Books about being queer, books about queer experiences, books with queer characters- the works.

Black Authors, Black Voices; a section that has been on display for a while, since the head of the Black Lives Matter movement, about anti-racism and being a better ally to marginalized communities.

There are a few more sections like this that he does; editing them, switching out new books in place of books that have lost traction, creating little fliers and informational cards for the tables… It’s all very nice, very niche, and very much David’s little ‘baby’- his special project. It’s why Hannah hired him; beforehand, she had been trying her hardest to modernize this little library, but she hadn’t been able to hit the nail on the head. In comes David Jacobs, a 24 year old college graduate/grad student with social media management experience and generalized knowledge of what ‘the youths’ are liking, needing a job to help pay his way through grad school…

Needless to say, Hannah basically lets David roam free and do what he needs to do. Of course, she checks off on everything he does, but the new layout and new areas and new ideas are all him.

And it’s working.

The activities that he’s coming up with are getting a lot of participation. Since coming in last year, David has been able to boost community engagement- which, in turn, boosted their annual funding, and they’ve been investing that money into upgrades. Better computers for the Media Center, better toys and activities and little knickknacks for the 'Kid’s Korner' section, better decor to make the library look more lively.

Hannah even mentioned bringing someone in to paint the kid’s section, and maybe even do a nice, Instagram-worthy mural in the Media Center, and--

“Oh, wonderful, you’re here early!”

At the sound of Hannah’s voice up front, David raises a brow. He’s near the back of the library now, and only has about ten more books to shelve, so he doesn’t bother going up to the front. He has a job to do anyway, so it’ll be fine. Distantly, though, he hears Hannah and someone laughing together, which makes David grin; Hannah is always laughing, either with someone or at someone. She’s sassy and snarky and kind of a bitch, but God, does David love her. He couldn’t imagine a better boss.

He focuses on the task at hand, deciding to take his time with it, just to let Hannah talk to whoever it is she’s talking to. Eventually, though, David pushes the cart back to the storage room and makes his way up to the front.

David rounds the corner with a smile and some pep in his step, though he stops in his tracks when he sees--

“David, this fine young man is gonna be painting our mural in the kids section!” Hannah says with a wide grin, and turns away from him. “This is David; he runs our Community Outreach programs and social media accounts, plus helps me with, y’know, sorting through the books,” Hannah explains.

She then turns to David, gesturing to the man next to her. “David, meet Jack Kelly. He’ll be in and out for the next few weeks.”

David and Jack finally make eye contact, and David sees the wide-eyed realization on Jack’s face.

“Hi,” David breathes, his hands clenching at his side.

Jack blinks. Hesitates, then raises his hand to wave. “...Hey.”

Hannah grins, and giggles between them as her hands clasp in front of her chest. “Oh, isn’t this just going to be great?”

That’s one way to put it, David thinks to himself, and by the flushed look on Jack’s face, he’s probably thinking the same damn thing.

[butwhyduh]

Fit to be Tied

Jason Todd x reader

Warning: Christmas? And the f word.

Christmas series 2

Jason didn’t pay much attention to holidays. Nope. That was for the living. He didn’t have much of need for it. But he did know that Christmas was quiet and New Years was busy for patrol. He guessed everyone ate Christmas dinner and and then got bored of playing nice. Or maybe that just wanted to start the new year with a big ass bang. Who knows?

Even when he was a kid, he didn’t celebrate the holidays. Too poor, mom too lost in drugs, and dad? Well fuck him. He was a piece of shit when he was around.

Jason kicked a beer can out of his way into the pile of trash on the sidewalk. They didn’t get the trash again this week it looked like. Daddy Bruce could play bat but couldn’t throw his money around enough to keep trash from piling on the street.

It was fine. He had more important things to do anyways. He had to buy a Christmas present. He didn’t care for the holidays but the sweet girl he had at home was a doll and fuck, if she didn’t deserve something. So Jason went down to the local pawn shop. Usually not a problem but it was 2 AM. Not exactly prime business hours.

So yes, Red Hood was breaking into a pawn shop to get a bracelet. He was leaving cash, $20 over the cost too. It was something you had seen earlier in the week and had admired. Gems of some kind shaped to look like a butterfly. You’d taken a minute longer to stare at it.

He left as quick as he came. And it wasn’t long until he was opening the window of your apartment dressed in street clothes. You were asleep. Jason had used the excuse of patrol to get out. But in the early morning hours of Christmas, he wanted to wake you.

“Princess,” he said gently. You moved a little before opening your eyes. You smiled up at him. Fuck, he didn’t deserve the way you looked at him. Your eyes looked so innocent and sweet. You never looked at him like he scared you.

“Jaybird, what’s going on?”

“I got you something for Christmas and it’s technically Christmas..” he said pulling out the box. You sat up, curious.

“It’s Christmas Eve. You got me something? I didn’t think we were- I didn’t get anything. I couldn’t-“ you said turning red. Money was too tight to consider it. The fact that the heat was still on this late in the month was a Christmas miracle.

“No no. It’s fine. Just being here is enough for me. I’ve never really celebrated Christmas anyways,” Jason said pushing the box in your hand. You held the box before kissing him.

You opened the box to see the bracelet you had been looking at the pawn shop. You smiled and stared at the pretty little butterfly. Jason watched you carefully for a reaction. He’d never admit it but he was more nervous now than fighting on the street.

“You saw me looking at it. I didn’t think you’d notice,” you murmured softly as you picked it up. Jason took it and wrapped it around your wrist. He clasped it on and you looked at it, moving your wrist in the light.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful,” you said quietly looking at it. You had a little grin on your face. Jason smiled. That’s the look he wanted. That little bit of happiness that you showed when you were really pleased. He intertwined his fingers in yours.

“Princess, you’re so cold,” Jason said with a frown. He could feel it colder outside but now that he was getting used to the temperature, it wasn’t warm as it should be.

“The heater was acting up again so I turned it down. The blankets are plenty warm,” you said and his heart all but broke. There was no way he was going to let you be cold all winter because the landlord wouldn’t fix things. He might pay this guy a visit. You sensed his anger.

“It’s okay, Jay. Come lay with me and get warm,” you said taking his hands. He let you pull him into bed. He kicked off his pants and shoes and laid on his side. You curled into him as a little spoon. His long big frame all but engulfed you. It always felt to protective. If he was holding you, he knew you were safe. Jason ran his fingers along your bracelet soft as his rough fingers could.

“You’re so good to me,” you said softly and his heart clenched again. Fuck, if you knew all the bad he did. His messed up past. He thought you would have run away when you first learned he was Red Hood but no, you had been kind.

“Naw, Princess you deserve more then this shitty place,” he said, and for the first time, he felt a little bad about giving all of his trust fund to the soup kitchen he would visit as a kid. A little would have been nice to get a better place for you. But he had been making a ton crushing the drug trade at the time and didn’t have a girl back home when he did it. He couldn’t be as reckless now.

You turned in his arms to look in his blue eyes. He has such an intense look on his face that you frowned. “Jaybird, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said pulling his face back to normal. “Just thinking. I wanna move you to a better place, a safer place than this,” he said running his thumb across your cheeks. You grasped his wrist and leaned into his touch. Jason would sometimes get like that. Thinking you deserved better. And you humored him even though you wouldn’t even know what to do with wealth.

“We’re moving. Soon. I’m promising now,” he said thinking about the painful conversation he was going to have with Bruce. His adoptive father he hadn’t even told you about. Bruce would do just about anything Jason asked. Probably the guilt of letting him die.

“But Jay, we’d miss the water that went from boiling to freezing at random. And I’m not sure if I can sleep without Mr and Mrs Jancowski having sex every Tuesday at 2 AM,” you said with a smile. He kissed you to shut you up. You were joking but each one felt like a little knife in his guilt. You pulled him over you and the thought of money troubles faded from your mind.

———————————————

Jason woke before you and watched you sleep. You laid on his chest with your hand in his hair and your soft breath on his throat. The bracelet was still on your wrist. You looked so peaceful, trusted him while you slept. Jason carefully grabbed his phone and texted Alfred. He’d also have to tell you about his adoptive family. His very famous adoptive family.

He threaded his fingers in your hand that was flung across his waist. You began to stir. Jason moved hair from your face and you blinked to see his pale blue eyes watching you.

“Morning, Princess,” he said with a rough morning voice. You smiled.

“Morning, Jaybird.”

“I’ve got something to tell you,” he started. “I want you to meet my family tonight.”

“Tonight? Your family? I thought your parents...” you trailed off.

“I was adopted. I never told you because I don’t have the best relationship with them. But I think it’s time for you to meet them. I’ve got to tell you something else,” he said and you could hear his heart beat quicker as you laid on him.

“My adoptive father is Bruce Wayne.”

Silence.

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. And tonight I’m taking you to meet him. And my adoptive siblings.”

“You aren’t joking,” you said sitting up. Jason sat up too.

“I’m not. I’m kinda the... black sheep of the family. He adopted me when I was 12. I was trying to boost the wheels from the b- Bentley he was driving,” Jason corrected. It was one thing to tell you he was Red Hood. He couldn’t say Bruce Wayne was Batman.

“Wow. I- wow. Okay. That’s a lot to take in. Also on brand to be honest,” you said and he smiled and shrugged.

“Wait. What the fuck do you wear to the freaking Wayne manor for Christmas Eve?” You said a little panicky.

“Whatever you want. It’s just family,” he said with a sideways smile.

“Oh no. I can’t go to freaking Wayne Manor in a Kmart sweater,” you said quickly.

“You can wear,” he said hopping out of bed. He dug way in the back of his closet for a pretty red sweater that was slightly oversized. “This. Should fit fine. Pretty expensive too.”

“Where the hell did you get that?”

“I’ve had it for year and it definitely doesn’t fit now,” Jason said with a laugh. “Try it on.”

—————————————

The weather sucked. Freaking sleet that threatened everything it touched. You were grateful it wasn’t a night of Jason patrolling. This meant taking your car instead of Jason’s motorcycle. Your car was at least 15 years old and you called it Frankenstein because of all the repairs done over the years.

The radio skipped as Jason drove over a speed bump by Wayne Manor and you burst out laughing. Jason looked at you from the side.

“It’s not that funny,” he said. “What’s up?”

“My car is trash, I’m wearing your old sweater, and we’re late. If you weren’t the black sheep before, bringing me home, you will be now,” you said. He grabbed your hand and parked in front of a random house.

“I’ve been the black sheep since I was a kid and you aren’t going to change any thing for the worse. Trust me. In fact they’ll probably think you’re too good for me,” Jason said with a dry chuckle. “So don’t worry about anything. Except making room for pudding. I know it sounds weird,” he said starting to drive again. “But it’s the best part of Christmas.”

Wayne Manor was huge. You knew that. You’d even seen it on tv. But to see it in front of you was honestly terrifying, especially in the nasty weather. You almost hoped Jason was playing some weird elaborate joke and was going to drive on by but he knew the passcode to the gate. He drove in the covered drop off spot by the front door and parked. You both quickly ran in the building.

The front entry was breathtaking. A gigantic Christmas tree and a full staircase decked out in garland like a Hallmark movie. It was like a magazine. In fact, it was in the Christmas episode of Gotham Life the year before.

You gripped Jason’s hand tightly as you walked down the hall. Your shoes sounded unnaturally loud and you had the urge to quiet them like it was a library. Jason pulled you to the doorway of a dinning room full of people settling to eat. Jadon cleared his throat.

“Master Jason! You made it,” Alfred said excitedly. “I recieved your message but it’s been many years. Sit. Sit.”

“Glad you could come,” Jason’s brother Dick said with a grin. He looked at you in curious excitement. You looked down at some kind of mushroom soup placed in front of you. Everyone else was dressed so nicely and ate so perfectly. It was intimidating.

“Yeah, it’s Christmas,” Jason said shrugging. He gave Dick a look that said don’t ask. It didn’t take much for Dick to drop it because he seemed incredibly distracted. You spent most of the meal trying to keep up on conversations you clearly didn’t understand while trying food you’ve never seen before. You could barely remember everyone you were introduced to. One of Jason’s sister(s?) gave you a big hug along with everyone else when she arrived. You couldn’t tell anyone what was even said after the meal. Or so you thought.

Until right across from you, Dick proposes to his girlfriend. He stuttered around before finally asking. “Will you marry me? Oh god, I have a ring,” he said producing one. Everyone watched as she stared in the box.

“Will I marry you?” She asked faintly and you worried she’d say no. How terrible would it be??

“Please say something,” he pleaded and you could tell the man was practically in pain before she said yes. They kissed, the family applauded, and champagne was served.

Jason watched you from the corner of his eyes. How did you react to this? What did you think? You didn’t look jealous or anything. It made Jason think of marriage. He hadn’t before. He’d thought about moving into something more permanent but marriage. He’d never thought about marriage as his future, ever. Of course when you die at 16 and come back with a vengeance, love is low on the priority list.

“Jaybird, you there,” you asked slightly tapping his shoulder. He blinked and looked at you.

“Yeah, I’m here. Just in my head,” he said and you nodded. He’d do that sometimes.

“The party is moving to the parlor,” you said quietly in a proper rich Gothamite voice and Jason huffed before covering his smiling mouth with a nose rub. The rest of the group was moving ahead of you. Dick and his new fiancé were retiring for the night.

“I’m never going to hear the end of it, am I?”

“I’m so sorry, dearest. I can’t understand you with a silver spoon in your mouth,” you laughed. Jason rolled his eyes before guiding your shoulders towards the door. You heard a soft laugh behind you and you turned to see Tim’s girlfriend smiling.

“Sorry to interrupt but I’ve got to use that on Tim,” she said grabbing her coat and walking out.

After making sure you were cool with hanging with Tim’s girlfriend and their adoptive sister Cass, Jason and Tim started a very competitive game of pool. You couldn’t help but look at things that cost more than you’ve ever even seen. The chess set Damian and his girlfriend were playing with probably cost more than your car.

But it was Christmas and you tried to push your insecurities aside. It was a fun evening. A glass of wine you kept sipping on helped as well.

After a while Bruce announced that the roads were too bad and that no one was leaving. Jason clenched his jaw for a second before looking at you and relaxing. He didn’t want to stay but he wasn’t risking your health in any way. Instead he focused on the game.

“So if I win,” Jason said a full hour later. By this time, Damian’s girlfriend had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Your eyes felt a little heavy as well. “I get the penthouse.”

“Sure Jay. That’s Bruce’s. But I’m willing to gamble it,” Tim said throwing his hands up at the ridiculousness.

“I accept terms,” Bruce said. Both boys looked at him surprised. “Whoever wins gets the penthouse.”

You turned quickly to watch the game. Okay, is that a normal thing for them? To bet property. The look on everyone’s face said that no it wasn’t normal.

Jason was excellent at pool. It was a common for you both to go down to the pool hall and play some games. Jason would occasionally make some money playing and he did often as a kid. It was also a way to waste time when your mom was throwing beers back like a fish, like Jason’s mother did. Tim didn’t stand a chance. He wasn’t as good and looked almost like he was in pain occasionally. But maybe it wasn’t a real competition? Maybe Bruce was trying to give Jason something he’d always want to but didn’t know how. Jason easily won the game.

“So the penthouse is mine?” Jason asked. Bruce nodded and shrugged. Tim softly coughed in his hand. Your heart raced. They couldn’t be serious.

“If you’ll live in it,” Bruce said. Damian was carefully carrying his girlfriend upstairs.

“Deal,” Jason says quickly.

“Deal,” Bruce said looking quiet pleased. Was this his plan all along?

“I guess, deal?” Tim said confused. “Though you should owe me. You’re the one that got me shot.”

Your brain broke. He was shot? And it was Jason’s fault?

“What?! You got him shot?” Tim’s girlfriend asked loudly. Tim blanched.

“Not my fault.”

“Literally your fault,” Tim countered.

“What did you do?” You asked looking at him suspiciously. He offered you a sheepish smile.

“I might have said ‘what are you gonna do, shoot us?’ I meant me. Not Tim! He also has a bulletproof suit,” Jason said. Tim must be a vigilante too. You glared at Jason.

“That’s not in the report,” Bruce said with his eyes narrowing.

“Good night everybody. Merry Christmas,” Jason said pulling you from the room and up to his childhood room.

“You’re in so much trouble,” you said and he grinned.

“I’ll deal with it tomorrow. How do you feel about a penthouse? Better than our current place hu?” Jason said pulling you close. You felt dizzy at the idea.

“Seriously? We can’t afford it,” you said trying to stay grounded. It was too good to be true. Things like that didn’t happen to people like you.

“I think I know a guy who can keep the lights on,” he joked and you gave him a serious look. “Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy the idea of constant hot water. Lights never going off,” Jason said pushing you towards the bed. “No one can hear me make you scream.”

“Tempting. Very tempting,” you said and of fucking course it was. A safe beautiful clean penthouse over your trashy scary apartment wasn’t even a contest. Jason pushed you on the bed and hovered over you.

“What are you doing,” you asked flushed but still encouraging him. It was still his dad’s house and he was getting handsy.

“Trying to have sex with my girlfriend on my old bed like every guy ever has dreamed of,” Jason said. He nipped at your throat. You gasped.

“Got to be quiet, Princess,” he whispered and you pulled him down to kiss more.

————————————

The next morning you woke to an empty bed. You fixed your hair as best you could and threw on Jason’s sweatshirt before going downstairs. You caught a glimpse of the kitchen as Bruce slowly slid a set of keys Jason’s way before taking a long drink from his coffee. “I’m glad you made home for Christmas this year, Jason.” The penthouse.

“Morning,” Bruce said to you nodding before leaving the room. Jason was alone in the kitchen but you could hear others in the breakfast nook a door over.

“Keys,” Jason said showing you. “And no lecture.”

You gave him a hug and looked at the shiny metal keys. It would be a while before you could handle the idea of a freaking penthouse being yours. “But you should get something for Tim. You did get him shot.”

“Let him shoot me?”

“Jason, no.”

[tomurasprincess]

A Caged Dove Part 3 (Shouto Todoroki x Reader)

Summary: You are a princess from a smaller territory within the kingdom, summoned to the castle to meet with the heir of the throne in the absence of your parents. You think it will simply be a routine trip, until you realize that Prince Shouto has his own plans for you. Whether you agree with them or not.

Pairing: Prince Shouto Todoroki x Reader Rating: T+ for this chapter, but E+ for future ones. Chapter Warnings: Yandere themes, nonconsensual touching, obsession, suggestion of forced marriage, murder Series Warnings: Noncon, dubcon, breeding, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stalking, yandere Word Count: 2.5k Note: Fairy Tale AU. (Still more Grimm than Disney). First part was my event entry into the @bnhabookclub. I have loved doing this series, and I am so glad to have such a positive response to it. Hope you guys like part 3 just as much! Thank You: To @thewheezingwyvern...woman, I continue to appreciate your help. @jojosmilktea, thank you again for making the gorgeous banner for me! I am but a humble peasant compared to your banner making, and must bow to the queen.

One || Two || Three || Four || Five (Finale)

You have run through every aspect of this escape plan so often that you feel like your head is spinning. As plans go, it is not the most detailed or the most elaborate. And the thought of escaping from the royal palace itself fills you with a terror you didn't think was possible. But there was no other option. You fear there is no help coming for you, and you have to get out before Prince Shouto forces you into a marriage that you do not want.

So you are left to do this on your own, unable to count on anyone but yourself. There has been no sign of your bodyguard or handmaiden that came with you from your estate, and nobody will tell you anything about their whereabouts, a fact that worries you greatly. You care about them both, having known them for years, but you can't let that stop you from escaping.

You go through the plan one last time as you check your bag of supplies. It contains extra clothes, food, water, and various other items that you may need to survive until you can make it to another town. You've never had to survive out in the woods before, but you'll have to make do.

Sliding open the door as quietly as you can, you look around the area. You see no one and hear nothing at all, so you step out and shut the door gently behind you. The cold air surprises you, and you find yourself shivering as you draw your cloak closer around yourself. You did not expect it to be this cold, and you hope the clothes you have packed will be enough to stay warm.

The entire area has already been examined and mapped out under the pretense of exploring what is to be your new home, so you have a general idea of which way to go even in the dark. You slowly creep down the hallway, sometimes pausing in dark alcoves here and there to listen for any incoming people. But the castle is deathly silent. This fact should make you feel relieved, but instead, you only feel deeply unsettled. There should at least be some activity going on, even if just the servants and groundskeepers. But there is not a single person anywhere to be found.

You briefly consider the possibility that your plan has been discovered. But you shake that idea from your head immediately. It would be impossible for anyone to know, and even if they did, it would only make you panic if you thought about it too hard. So you continued down the path that you had mapped over the past few days. But you stop entirely when you hear what sounds like footsteps approaching from the area you're walking towards.

Fear threatens to overtake you, but you manage to keep your calm and rush to a nearby door. You are grateful when the door opens without a sound, and you instantly shut the door as quietly behind you as you can and simply wait. The footsteps approaching get louder and louder, and you can barely stop the fear threatening to overtake you. The footsteps get closer and closer until they stop right in front of the door you went through.

You slam a hand over your mouth when you become afraid that you'll make a noise, almost too panicky to even breathe for fear that it'll be heard. Even indoors, you still find yourself struggling to keep warm while forcing yourself not to shiver and give yourself away.

The guard stands there for what feels like hours, but at best must have been a few minutes, before finally walking away down the hallway you were coming from. You slowly begin to breathe, trying to calm yourself down as best as you can before finally getting the courage to open the door.

You peek your head out as little as you possibly can to check both ways, but you hear no sounds anymore, so you step out and quietly close the door behind you again. You are almost to your destination, and so all there is for you is keep moving. So you begin to walk as fast as you possibly can without giving up on speed and quiet.

And that is when you finally saw it. It was the exit for the servants to come and go from the castle, and when you mapped out this plan, you figured that it would be so heavily guarded. And it seems like you were right. There is not a single person around, not even a single guard or servant.

Another part of the plan involves dressing down the best that you could, not wearing your noble finery. Although you could not pass for a servant, you hope that you can be mistaken as a noblewoman's handmaiden.

As you step out from the shadow of the castle, the deathly cold air hits you in the face and almost takes your breath away. There is something wrong, you think. It is even more frigid than it was when you left on what was supposed to be a balmy evening.

You realize that you can't stand here and keep worrying about it, you have to make a move for it. So you take one last look around, and seeing nothing, hurry quickly to the exit before anyone can notice you. You barely make it halfway across the courtyard to the exit when your limbs feel like they're going numb.

You glance down and see that ice has covered them, locking them into place and preventing them from moving. You let out a sharp gasp as you turn around and see your worst nightmare come true.

It is Prince Shouto himself standing there as ice runs from the ground right underneath him all the way to you. You glance down to see the ice spreading even further up your body, and you try to jerk your way out of the ice but manage to do nothing but cause a stinging pain to run up your leg. You let out a small hiss of pain as you reach down to try and yank your leg free.

"I wouldn't try to escape that ice, Princess."

You glance up at him and would recoil backward, if only you were able. The fury in his eyes is unmistakable, his body barely kept under control as you watch him physically shake from the rage that he is feeling. You notice he is dressed down in casual wear, something that they would wear to family functions and friends. But it is certainly not what a royal would wear to bed, indicating that even at this hour he was still awake. Another thought occurred to you instantly following that thought. "Did - did you know?"

He begins to saunter towards you, stalking you almost like prey. "Yes, I knew about your plan to escape almost as soon as you decided it. You are clever, Princess, but you are not up to my level. Not even close."

"Please, Prince Shouto, just let me go," you plead with him. "I won't tell anyone about this, I promise. But I don't want any of this. I just want to go home. With my parents."

At this, Prince Shouto begins to laugh, his smile turning into a twisted smirk. "Ah, but you are home already. This is even where your parents are."

"What is that supposed to mean," you snap at him, not even caring about your tone his official title anymore.

"Exactly what I said. I have your parents in the dungeon of this castle, right this minute."

You shake your head in disbelief. "You're lying. They're on a diplomatic mission."

He has made his way to you by this point, reaching up to run his cold fingertips down your jawline. "Is that what they told you? I can't imagine they would have told you the truth."

You have a sneaking suspicion of what he is about to say, and you close your eyes against the words. You try to move your legs again, but you can no longer even feel them through the numbness.

"The diplomatic meeting they went on," he leans in close to whisper in your ear, "was with me. You see, I intended to ask politely to marry you. But I also knew your parents would be stubborn. When they refused me, I had them thrown in the dungeons."

You shake your head as you try and refuse the truth of what he's saying. "I don't believe you. If you already had them, then why were they summoned?"

He grins, a sinister look crossing his face. "That's because they weren't summoned. You were."

"You mean to say that my parents were already imprisoned," your voice rises in alarm. "But you told me -- ." You think back to your first conversation with him. You remember talking about your parents, talking about them being called away due to important business. But you also remember a few other things that were said.

"You - you did mention that you summoned me," you whisper in horror, "but I didn't put any thought into it. But you also said that my parents agreed!"

"Ah, but they did agree."

"They would never agree to something like that."

His hand trails from your jawline down to your neck before putting light pressure as he squeezes. "I think you'll find most things can be agreed upon with certain - methods."

You let out a gasp at his words, the meaning painfully clear. He had your parents tortured. Your sweet, kind-hearted parents who never hurt a fly. Who only wanted to do what was best for their kingdom, their people, and their only daughter. You feel tears running down your face as it becomes harder to breathe. "Are they still alive," you whisper, needing to know the answer but afraid to ask.

"Oh, they're alive. And they'll continue to be." He takes a long pause as he runs his hand down your side. "As long as you give me what I want, princess."

You are openly sobbing now, unable to stop thinking about your poor parents. They would never wish this on you and would never have easily agreed. The things he must have done to them - your brain shuts down. You can't try to imagine details, or you will be unable to think about anything else. The thoughts will run through your mind endlessly until you go mad.

"How do I know they're still alive? And my bodyguard and handmaiden, what about them? I haven't seen them since I came to the castle."

"Oh, I can easily take you to see them with your own eyes. And as for the other two - they were executed for treason just several hours ago."

"No, no, oh god no," you feel your body begin to tremble. You can't seem to make yourself breathe at all as the walls seem to be closing in on you. The two may have been servants to your household, but they were also still friends. People who you had known for most of your life. And now they were dead? You didn't want to believe it, but you also knew Prince Shouto was not the type to lie about such a thing. If he said they were executed, then they were executed.

"WHY?" You intended to sound rational, but you instead find yourself screaming. "They had nothing to do with any of this or with my escape, they were innocent!"

"I'm aware," he simply shrugs his shoulders, as if the fact was irrelevant.

You stare at him in disbelief at the answer, unable to say anything.

"You need to know what happens when you try to go against me. You are mine, and the sooner you understand that, the less people will die because of you."

They - they died because of you? You did not want to imagine it, wanted to believe he was lying. You opened your mouth to speak, to try and deny it, but all that came out was a sob.  

When you're able to speak a little, you try to ask the question running through your mind. "If I hadn't -" you pause to let out a sniffle as you try not to sob again, "would they be alive still?"

He ran his hands gently through your hair before reaching down to heat the ice holding your legs and feet in place on the ground. "Of course they'd still be alive," he whispered in your ear, "they died due to your actions."

Those words combined with your too numb legs cause you to collapse, unable to hold your weight up. He catches you easily, wrapping one arm tightly around your waist and cupping your head with the other.

He brings you up into a heated, passionate kiss and you simply allow him, too in shock to try and stop him. The kiss is rough and possessive, as if he seeks to dominate your mouth. He uses teeth to bite at your lip as one hand roams up and down your body. When he reaches down to cup your sex through your dress, you let out an involuntary gasp that allows him to deepen the kiss even further.

When he finally pulls away, you're gasping for air while he remains unphased. The only indication that the kiss has affected him at all is the hardness you feel pressed against you. But he makes no move to any further action, choosing to simply take in your red lips and flushed cheeks with a smirk.

"What is your answer, Princess?"

Your answer? In your dazed state, you almost don't remember what the question is. But then you remember, and it hits you all over again how well he has outplayed you. You have no other option but to go along with him. So that your parents are safe. There is no guarantee he won't kill them anyway, but there is a guarantee he will if you refuse him again. It is a chance you have to take.

You realize you're sobbing again as he gently shushes you, pulling you into his chest while whispering sweet nothings into your ear. As if he expects it to work. And unfortunately, it is working, as you find yourself relaxing slightly in his embrace.

"Yes," you say quietly into his chest.

"Yes, what?"

Of course he expects more, you think bitterly. How much will this man continue to take from you? He has what he wants already, and yet he seems to want more. Seems to want even your pride and dignity. Well, if that's what he wants, then he'll get it. For your parents, who have always loved you. For your bodyguard and childhood friend so that they won't have died in vain.

When you are finally able to speak, your voice comes out weightier than you expected, more confident than you truly feel. "Yes, I will marry you, Prince Shouto," you utter the dreaded words as you feel yourself being shoved further into the cage that you can't seem to escape.

~~~~

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[nose-bandaid]

the moon told me so ☾~

Wonwoo x (gender neutral) Reader | soulmate AU angst | 4.5k words

synopsis: in a world where you and your soulmate share a special marking that appears on one’s body at the age of 18 or later. you were wonwoo’s, but wonwoo was no one’s, and you were the fool who didn’t say a word about it. alternatively:

you are in love with jeon wonwoo, but jeon wonwoo isn’t ready to love yet.

a/n: i uh, feel kinda shy posting this lmao but i hope you enjoy:))

sequel: the little flower on your wrist and the epilogue: kairosclerosis

=====

“When are you going to tell him?”

“Tell who?”

Seungkwan sighed and gave you a knowing look. “Wonwoo, who else would I be talking about?”

“I don’t have anything I need to say to him.” You muttered into the warm knitted scarf wrapped around your neck. The snow fell gently around you in large clumps — the kids on your street were sure to be delighted when they wake up to that. It wouldn’t be long before you started seeing snowmen pop up one by one, all with little carrots and hats decorating them, giving them life. However, to you, the snow only added to the weight in your heart. The peaceful, yet lonely atmosphere made you want to curl back into your bed and sleep your sadness away. And then you could hope that maybe when you woke up, all of your problems would be solved.

Yes, that sounded like a much better option, compared to standing around in the cold weather, waiting for a late taxi. But you promised him that you would show up today. As much as you didn’t want to, you weren’t one to break the promises you made. Promises were meant to be kept.

And so, you woke up at a horrid 4 am today and dressed yourself with the best outfit your sluggish mind could think of. All to make sure that you were at the airport on time, just for him.

“Y/n... this might be your last chance. I mean, this is already terribly last minute for you to do so, but we also have no idea when he’ll come back.” Seungkwan’s voice softened when he noticed your stressed demeanour.

“Listen, I know, okay? I’ll tell him today, I’ve been preparing what to say for the past week. I just... I just need to get myself together, that’s all.” The words spilled out of your mouth as you tried to get him to stop nagging.

Before you could get a response, the taxi pulled up in front of you, and you busied yourself with getting a seat in the back while Seungkwan relayed the destination to the driver. He then took a seat in the passenger’s side, leaving you alone in the back with the little present you brought with you by your side.

The whole car ride was silent, minus the soft music that played from the radio — some kind of ambient jazz that only made the atmosphere even more awkward. You fidgeted with the bracelet dangling on your wrist and looked out the window, the yellow beads clinking against each other to add some noise to the silence. The buildings passed by with a blur, and every so often you would come across a location that prompted a treasured memory in you.

The mall that you and Wonwoo would visit almost everyday during middle school. Your parents weren’t the fondest of the idea that you guys were going there so often, but you went either way. There was ice cream to be eaten, game demos to be played, outfits (that you could definitely not afford) to try on, and snacks to be bought.

The arcade that you so daringly visited when you were supposed to be in class. It was Mingyu who had suggested the idea, as a joke, but everyone started getting on board with it and soon you were roped into the adventure too. None of you guys were really the type to skip school, the thought just never visited your mind, and you had other things to worry about. On that day though, you decided to let yourself be just the slightest bit free, and with a little convincing, you got Wonwoo of all people, to come along too.

That day was a blast, the thrill of rebellion, the refreshing taste of freedom, even the stuffiness of the arcade was bearable — your uniform was far too warm for the environment. Miraculously, there was no big punishment for your absence when you returned, just a light scolding, and that simply heightened the excitement of the day. You never pulled such an act ever again, but you most definitely held that memory dear to your heart. Because on that day, Wonwoo’s smiles were almost a thousand times brighter than usual.

Your eyes flickered between the trees that trickled their way into your view, and they steadily grew in numbers to paint a forest in front of you. Though their leaves were barren and their branches were heavy with snow, all you could think of were the lush green forests that surrounded the cottage you visited almost a year ago. The one that you and your friends rented out, the one that housed some of the happiest moments in your life, the one that echoed some of the loudest laughs ever, the one that kept you warm under the cool night, as you snuggled into each other’s arms.

The one that witnessed your life fall apart.

-----

You remembered that dreary day, when Wonwoo pulled you aside from the others and into a little alcove in the forest nearby, a nervous look painted on his face. Your friend group had decided to spend the warm weekend at the cottage to celebrate Wonwoo’s birthday and new soulmate mark. They all insisted that it was tradition to host an all-out celebration for the occasion, despite the boy’s refusals. If they celebrated for the others, they had to celebrate for him as well. 

You were all about to head to the beach for a swim before barbecuing some dinner, the weather was a comfortable mix of the warm sun and the cool breeze. It should’ve been perfect.

Let’s put an emphasis on should’ve.

When you finished changing, before you could catch up to the others who were already dunking themselves into the frigid water, laughter getting lost in the vast forest, Wonwoo stopped you at the front door with a gentle grip on your arm. From the looks of it, he’d been waiting for you for a while.

“Hey y/n... could we talk for a minute?”

And that question brought you to a wooden bench in a small clearing, hidden away from the others’ sight. The sunlight filtered through the leaves above, casting a delicate pattern around you. The air of uneasiness between you two was so contrasting to the mood a few moments ago, that you were immediately filled with worry. The last time you saw Wonwoo, he was laughing his head off with Mingyu and Seokmin over a stupid dad joke that someone made. Now, there was no trace of that former carefree personality.

“Wonwoo what’s up? Is something wrong?”

He bit his lip, clearly deep in thought. “You know how I’m supposed to be getting my mark tomorrow?”

You nodded. “Yeah, that’s why we all came here to celebrate right? Is it too much for you? I can tell the others to cool off on the partying, I know they can be overwhelming.”

“No it’s not that, I don’t mind it. It’s just... I’m honestly not so sure about this whole soulmate thing.” His voice was small and his shoulder tensed as he awaited your response.

“Like, you’re worried about the mark not showing up tomorrow?”

“No, I’m worried that I won’t be able to love my soulmate the way I’m supposed to.” He clarified, a bit firmer now.

Your heart stopped.

“Well,” You you pursed your lips as your mind raced to gather the best way to respond. “You could always just tell them right? That you’re not ready for a relationship, I’m sure they would understand.”

“But what if I’m never ready?” His confidence had suddenly disappeared, and you could feel that he was getting panicky, so you rested a gentle hand on his thigh to calm him down. “That feels so unfair to them. Like I’m going against fate.”

You swallowed back the emotions building up in your throat. You were hoping for the already low chance that he would be your soulmate, that maybe the stars would be in your favour and offer you an easy happy ending of some sort. After all these years together, you felt that there was almost no way that you couldn’t be paired together in some way. But now, even if you were soulmates, Wonwoo had just denied the only possibility for you to get together. Romantically, at least. Which was unfortunately, what you’ve been hoping for all this time.

“You could always just be friends right? There’s some people out there who just decide to be friends and there’s nothing wrong with that. Soulmates aren’t always about romantic love.” It was the best you could offer. You were fine with pushing back your feelings for him if it meant that he’ll be happy with his decision. The last thing you wanted to do was force your love onto him. 

“Yeah but do you really know anyone who’s done that? Y/n, everyone around us started dating their soulmate the moment they found them. They’re going to come to me with that mindset and I’m going to have to shut them down.” He paused. “The person that they’ve been searching for all their lives will be shutting them down. Don’t you think that’s harsh on my part? That I should just suck it up and get together with them?”

“Wonwoo, I can’t speak up on behalf of your soulmate,” You choked back the pitiful laugh building up in your throat. “but if they’re supposed to be the perfect match for you, I think they would try their best to understand your feelings, because you deserve to be matched with one of the kindest people in the world.”

He didn’t take his gaze off the pebbles his shoes prodded at, and you took that as a sign to continue.

“With that said, let’s just enjoy today, and all the other days to come as we wait for your soulmate. And when they come along, we’ll take things one step at a time, and work through the problem as it plays along. Worrying about it beforehand isn’t going to do you any good, don’t you agree? That’s what you told me before right?”

Wonwoo slowly nodded and slipped his hands back onto his lap. “You’re right, I’m worrying too much about something that hasn’t happened to me yet. What if I don’t even get my mark this year? I won’t be able to totally forget the problem, but I’ll try my best to put it aside for now.” He smiled softly to himself, and you patted his shoulder.

“That’s the spirit! So you wanna go back to the others and go for a swim? If you’re up to it?”

“Yeah, I think that would be nice. Thanks for listening, y/n.” He got up from the bench and offered you a hand which you gratefully took. Silence settled between you too as you made your way out of the forest and back to the beach. The others were quick to notice you and began eagerly calling for you guys to jump in. Before you gave in to their persistent requests, you paused for a moment and started talking again.

“Oh, and Wonwoo?”

He stopped a few steps ahead of you and turned around. “Yeah?” He looked much lighter than he did a few moments ago, but for some reason, your heart broke a little at his happiness.

You gave him a downcast smile, and if he sensed the dismal tone in your voice, he didn’t say anything about it. “Just know that there’s nothing wrong with wanting to love your soulmate platonically. I have a good feeling they’ll understand.”

Maybe you had gotten a bit ahead of yourself that day by assuming that you were going to be soulmates. No matter how much you felt that connection in your heart, Wonwoo himself never showed any signs of feeling it too. This whole thinking-that-he-was-your-soulmate-before-it-was-even-confirmed thing could’ve just been your mind being a mix of delusional and hopeful. But you said what you said, and it’s not like he noticed any of your hints anyways.

And it’s not like he ever will notice.

------

The next day, you woke up with a tight arm wrapped around your waist and the sun shining on your face. If it was any other day, you would’ve simply closed your eyes and fallen back asleep without caring so much about what time it was, but thankfully you had enough sense in you to remember the date.

July 17th.

Lifting your head fully off the pillow, you followed the arm hugging you to find Chan, buried underneath a soft blanket, still snoring away. Nudging him lightly, he stirred and moved his arm to rub his eyes, freeing you.

“Morning, Chan.” You poked his nose.

He let out a few incoherent mumbles before opening his eyes and looking at you. “What?”

“It’s Wonwoo’s birthday we gotta wake up and get the others.”

“Can’t we do that in a few minutes?” He whined, and tried to return to his pillow, but you were quicker, and pulled him into a sitting position.

“No we can’t, silly, we have things to do before he wakes up.” After a little bit of bickering between you two, you finally managed to convince him to get up and he left to go take a shower. You let out a quiet sigh. One down.

Turning to the couch nearby you looked at Jun who was still sleeping soundly.

11 more to go...

By the time everyone woke up and the celebration kicked off, it was already late morning and you all settled on ordering some pizza for lunch and a couple of the boys left to pick up the food (being located in a remote cottage made it a little difficult for a pizza guy to come here out of the blue). As you waited for the food, everyone went about and did their own things to kill the time, and you found Wonwoo sitting alone on the porch. Joining him, you gave him a playful punch on the shoulder and smirked.

“Hey there, birthday boy.” 

He returned the smile with little enthusiasm and you could tell a lot was on his mind.

“Everything good? You’re not worrying about your soulmate are you?” You asked.

Wonwoo averted his eyes from your gaze. “I’m just thinking about it a little bit.”

“So...” You tried your best to play it cool. “I guess what we’re all wondering is whether you’ve gotten your mark or not?” 

You could’ve just dropped the topic and not asked him, more for your own good than his, because you would surely lose it if you spent another minute thinking about your soulmate. On the other hand, it would’ve been a little selfish if you chose to completely ignore the whole getting your mark on your birthday thing, but let’s be honest — what were you going to do after seeing it? Some things are better left unknown, and yet, you asked him anyways.

He hesitated for a moment before rolling up the sleeve of the hoodie he was wearing. The sun was bright outside and the humidity was definitely at a high, he must’ve been absolutely melting in that outfit, but now you knew why he dressed so conservatively today. “Yeah, I did.”

He angled himself towards you and you stared at the moon crescent just below his wrist. In place of the stars usually found in the sky, small flowers were scattered here and there. It was a beautiful, yet simple design. 

Unconsciously you crossed your legs and rubbed your ankle, where the exact same design sat, hidden underneath the socks you always wore.

“That design really suits you.”

It was all you could choke out without giving anything away. No matter how hard you tried, nothing could stop the rush of emotions building up in your throat. You wanted to scream out loud, you wanted to cry out to Wonwoo, because what the hell did you do to deserve this fate? Out of all the people in the world, why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be you? You were losing it. 

And so you fled. Like the fool you were, you fled.

Giving him a gentle pat on his shoulder, you excused yourself and went straight back into the cottage and into the bedroom. You didn’t leave until Chan came in and asked if you were alright and to that, you spilled everything. You didn’t care about Wonwoo’s secret at that point, because you just needed to have someone to confide with. Someone to understand you.

Though some of the story was quite a shock to him, especially considering the fact that you’ve been keeping your soulmate mark hidden from all of them, Chan listened to you with all seriousness. In the middle of your rambling, Seungkwan also walked in to see what was taking you so long. The tears on your cheek probably weren’t the best thing for him to see, but deep down, you were happy to have another person to talk to. And as you did, he looked at you with empathetic, almost pitiful eyes.

It was terrible, but still relieving.

You promised each other to keep your secret between the three of you. The others didn’t need any extra drama in their lives, and besides, they weren’t supposed to be aware of Wonwoo’s secret until he decided to tell them himself.

You spent the rest of the vacation distancing yourself from him, and instead, you stuck by Chan and Seungkwan’s sides, and they made sure to take care of you, which was something you’ll forever be grateful for. Whenever Wonwoo made his way towards you, one of them would create some sort of distraction or pipe up a new conversation to drag you away from the man in question. Eventually, he seemed to get the message that you didn’t want to be around him and didn’t try to approach you for the rest of the time there. 

You felt bad. So bad for ignoring him. It was his birthday for God’s sake, and you — his best friend — were ignoring him on his birthday.

It wasn’t his fault. It totally wasn’t his fault for not wanting to be in a relationship. Just like how it wasn’t really your fault for falling head over heels for him. For loving the wrong person. But it happened against your will, and now you have to deal with the consequences of your actions. 

If you had said just one more word to him on that day, would things have turned out differently? Maybe you would’ve gotten together? Maybe you would’ve come to terms as just friends?

Maybe, at least, you wouldn’t have drifted.

-----

“Happy birthday y/n.”

Wonwoo slid a neatly wrapped present across the table and you ripped it open without much hesitation, too excited to see what was inside. 

It was the sweater you’ve always wanted, a soft royal purple that was decorated with constellations along the sleeves and a moon on its chest pocket. Honestly, you were interested in the sweater because it reminded you of a certain someone, and you wanted to wear it because it made you think of him. You hadn’t told him about it though, and you silently wondered how he found out.

“This doesn’t make up for anything though.” You muttered childishly and took a sip of the cool drink in front of you. You were referring to the news he dropped on you just moments before giving you the gift.

He nervously adjusted his glasses. “I’m sorry. Even I’m unhappy about moving across the world, but at the same time... y/n... this is my dream.”

You sighed and put down the drink. “I know. I’m just upset that we won’t be able to see each other for who knows how long.” You paused to think for a moment. “How long are you going to be gone for anyways?”

“At least 4 years.” He said in a small voice. “4 years for school and if I can get myself a job...” He let out a sigh in defeat.

“I don’t really know how long I’ll be there for.”

“Wow.” You breathed out. “So like I’ll really have to say goodbye then, right?”

“There’s still time, it’ll take a few months for everything to be planned and settled so don’t worry. But let’s just ignore that for now,” He swatted his hand int he air as if it would get rid of the gloomy mood settling over the table. “So much for a birthday gift right? I’m sorry for bringing this up today of all days, but I thought you deserved to know.” He smiled sadly.

“It’s fine. I appreciate you telling me right away.” You fiddled with the tag of the sweater in your hands. Ah, what the heck. Ripping off the tag entirely, you slipped the sweater on top of the clothes you were currently wearing. It was comfy, albeit a little bit stuffy with all the layers you had on, but you didn’t mind. “Thank you for the sweater by the way, I really like it, how did you know?”

“I had to do a little bit of digging to find that out.” He laughed. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been really close to Chan recently so I asked him if he knew anything about what you wanted for your birthday.”

“Ah.” 

You couldn’t tell if he was hinting something about being jealous of your friendship with Chan, or if he was simply stating what he saw. You also didn’t bother to ask. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes.

After your time at the cottage, things had fallen a little awkward between you two. You didn’t ignore him outright, you still had your usual conversations from time to time, but it was clear that at one point, you fell from best friends to practically acquaintances. Which probably was the opposite of what both of you wanted. While things have slowly been getting better overtime, the awkwardness between you two was still unbearable.

“Also...” He started tentatively.

“Mhm?”

“I was wondering if you got your mark?”

Right. He still doesn’t know. No one knew really, your own mark was still a secret kept between you, Chan, and Seungkwan. And you were planning to keep it what way, especially now that you knew that Wonwoo was literally going to disappear entirely from your life sometime soon. You knew it was a bit of a stretch to assume that. With all the technology that existed in the world, obviously you’d still be able to connect, even if there was a time difference. And surely Wonwoo would visit you guys once in a while. because he wouldn’t completely forget about you... right?

As much as you hated to admit it, no matter how hard the two of you tried, you were bound to lose each other someday. The man you loved, and still love, so dearly, will ambitiously pursue his dreams on the other side of the world while you, the lover, will miss your only chance to set things right.

You were being given another opportunity to tell him about your mark. Life was being kind enough to let you make up for your mistake at the cottage. And yet, you still looked into the eyes of your soulmate, and lied through your teeth, plastering on that same polite smile you’ve used over and over again, whenever someone asked you about your mark.

“No, not yet.” 

“Oh,” His eyes darted away from yours. “I’m sorry for asking.”

“No, no, it’s alright. I guess I’m just one of those rare cases, maybe I’ll finally get it next year.” You gave him a sad smile, which really wasn’t too hard to muster.

“You’ll find your soulmate soon, y/n. Don’t worry about it.” He gave you a reassuring smile and put his hand on top of the one you had on the table.

Yeah, I won’t worry about it.

=====

The taxi jerked to a stop and you gazed into the windows of the busy airport. All kinds of people were bustling about, carrying their luggages, making frantic phone calls, corralling their kids, reuniting with loved ones. The door in front of you opened, and Seungkwan held out a hand to help you up.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

You took his hand and he gently held onto you the entire time he guided you through the winding hallways. People brushed against your shoulder but you were too focused on your racing heart to bother with an apology. When you saw Wonwoo along with a few others in the distance, your fingers nervously tightened their grip on the small gift bag in your hands.

You weren’t ready to see him yet.

There wasn’t enough time for you to create some sort of plan B, because plan A was really starting to sound stupid to you now. When Seungkwan nudged you to go say your goodbyes, you hesitantly shuffled up to him, opting to stare at his sneakers instead of his face. You felt kind of pathetic, to be honest.

“Here, this is for you.” You placed the small box into his hands and gingerly clasped it before finally letting go. He opened it and pulled out a bracelet, its intricate pattern matched the one on your wrist, except his beads were painted a deep navy blue and white. 

“A bracelet?” He questioned as he slipped it onto his wrist, the small bell attached chimed along with its movement. It fit him perfectly. “Thanks y/n, you didn’t have to.”

“How could I not give you something before you go?” You countered.

“Hey, why are you acting like I’m leaving for good or something?” He joked lightly and ruffled your hair, which was rare coming from him. Usually it was the other boys who did that to you, but it’s not like you were going to refuse it. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Well that was a blatant lie. Though neither of you knew when he would be back, it was guaranteed that he would be gone for at least a few years. And if he ended up getting a job there, you might as well kiss goodbye to any chance of seeing him until you can manage your own work life. Maybe one day, you would be able to gather enough money to pay him a visit.

“I just want to make sure you have something to remember me by.” You answered softly, still refusing to look in his eyes. “In case we don’t get to see each other again.”

In case we drift apart like we already have.

“I’ll make sure to stay in contact, I promise.”

You opened your mouth to reply as the first tear dripped onto your cheeks.

I’m your soulmate Wonwoo. Since day one, I’ve always been in love with you, so please come home soon and we can figure things out. I can wait for you.

That’s what you were supposed to say. Your mind screamed at you to say the words you so diligently rehearsed all morning, but instead you asked him in a shaky voice. “Do you think you’re going to meet your soulmate there?” 

He must’ve mistook the regret in your voice as sadness over his departure, because he didn’t question your tone.

“I just might meet them, y/n.” You hated the way he sounded hopeful saying that. And then you proceeded to hate yourself for thinking that way. 

“I really thought my soulmate would be someone here, but I guess not. The world works in funny ways.” He laughed a little, and it just added to the awkwardness between you two. 

But it’s me, I’m your soulmate Wonwoo, do you not feel it too? 

“I also still don’t know if I’m ready to do anything romantically yet.“ He added.

You simply nodded and looked straight into his eyes, vision was blurry with tears, but you still gave him the warmest smile you could possibly muster.

As of today, you’ve finally made your decision. If you were going to say goodbye to him like this, you were also going to say goodbye to the feelings you had for him. You’ll learn to move on. Like any other problem you’ve faced in life, you’ll eventually move on. And if you were going to say goodbye to him like this, you wanted to at least send him off with the best version of you.

He’d always told you he liked your smile.

“I see, well, I won’t keep you any longer and say goodbye then, Wonwoo.” You squeezed his hand firmly for the last time.

He returned the smile. “Goodbye, y/n. We’ll meet again soon.”

[angloie]

Beach trips and I'm Falling in Love • 2.5/2

When Annabeth meets a strange boy on vacation, she doesn't expect for their relationship to grow much. He's... terribly sarcastic. Cocky. A not-so great match for her witty self. But after learning he visits the same beach every year she does, their strange friendship blooms into something more.

Their realtionship isn't the only thing that blooms over the yearsー that meaning a certain raven-haired boy.

genre ; childhood friends to lovers, fluff, strangers(?) to lovers, exchanging letters au, percabeth mortal au.

warnings ; swearing, suggestive(?) themes.

prev.

That night, Annabeth can't fall asleep.

(Percy can't either, because he can't stop thinking about Annabeth and how he thinks he saw her back there.)

What is Rachel to him?

Annabeth thinks. Her mind is something like a broken recordー stuck playing the question on repeat. 

Not that she could judge, however, if Percy enjoyed her company more than hers, then that would be... Fine. Just fine. Rachel was probably more close to him after all these years unlike the blonde; who has been away for six years.

When Annabeth turns on her side to look at the shell seated stop her bedside table, she grimaces.

"You better make sure to return it!"

"I'll be waiting!"

Why does that make her frown?

The morning comes slow, slower than Annabeth would like, when the birds start chirping and evening comes to dawn after her sleep-deprived thoughts. 

She knows that Percy's curled up inside his bed, (though certainly not the cabin he used to occupyー there's no one next door) snoring like he always does. She knows that Percy doesn't know that she's here, and Annabeth also knows that he'll be asleep until promptly one in the afternoon.

Annabeth thinks she'll meet him around sooner or later.

The lull of waves crashing across the shore gives her chills. Mornings, she now realizes, are the best part of the day.

The rose gold sun comes down in tiny slivers along the sand.

Percy is loyal. He's a great friend, much more than Annabeth deserves, witty and sarcastic.

Percy is not hers. He never was in the first place, really; him with his cocky smile and his big heart. That heart of his can only hold so much, can't it?

She starts to wonder if she's in there.

The shell in her pocket suddenly feels heavy when Annabeth reaches for it, the chipped and cracked coat somehow still intact. She'll give it to him when the time comes of course. Just not now. Annabeth couldn't even muster up the courage if she wanted to. 

So, sandaled feet dug into the sand, she scans her surroundings.

At first glance the beach is beach is deserted, aside from a few lingering beach-goers that occupy the waves on their surfboards and the sand with their umbrellas.

It's quite tranquil on her ownー  under the morning sun and all. She's been to beaches near her house back home,e but nothing can really beat this view.

Her eyes dart towards the ocean, where the surfers ride on the waves, laughing and cackling whenever one of their friends falls face-first into the cold waters. She laughs a bit, too, the scene reminds her of how she always used to fall when she was learning to surf.

Speaking of the surfers... They all look like they're having a blast. You know, Annabeth might start to think that the raven-haired guy looks like Percy, that he has the same smirk as him, but that's just illogical.

Right?

It's only until that they lock eyes is when Annabeth freezes.

Same sea green. Same sparkle.

Same Percy.

And it's only until he freezes, eyes widening and stopping to stare, is when she thinks Oh shit.

Then he's starting to come over, and her legs start moving on their own. 

Away from him.

This can't be happening. It can't be. Not when she's not ready, when she's too nervous to even muster a word, not when Annabeth can't even look at him without her heart racing like never before. 

She starts to walk faster. Not so fast that it looks suspicious, but fast as to escape his gaze and go back to her cabin.

Annabeth can hear him saying he needs to ‘do something' to his friends. Annabeth can also hear his surboard digging into the sand, as well as his footsteps getting closer and closer. So close, that she thinks it'll only be a few steps longer until he reaches her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Her thoughts get even more rapid, Can't the universe just wait for a second?

Annabeth completely shuts down when someone grabs her wrist.

"Annabeth?"

It takes so much to not year away, to not run, to not speak. It takes so much to turn her head and look at him, more, though, when his tone is the most heart melting thing she's heard in a long time. (good timing, really, and just when she's been trying to get all the feelings she holds for him.)

"Percy." She breathes out, eyes widening when she finally gets a good look of him.

He's... Grown. 

His shoulders are broader. His hair, once unruly and messy, is exactly like in the previous pictures he's sent: Perfectly perfect and endearing. Annabeth notices that he towers over her figure quite a bitー what happened to the scrawny little Percy? Back then, she could easily look over him; but now? It's quite the opposite.

There’s an air around him, too, one that makes Annabeth gulp and her thoughts race.

Holy fuck.

Before she can let out a single word, she's engulfed into a bone crushing hug.

Thats pretty much when it all hits her.

Sure, he's wet and damp and smelling like saltwater and sweat, but she can't really pay any mind to that. Percy's warm. His touch is soft, gentle, just as Annabeth remembers. 

Why was she avoiding him in the first place?

Just when she thinks that it's fineー that she will not tear up over something like thisー her body betrays her and she starts to sink further, further into the hug.

Is she tearing up right now?

"I missed you," Percy mumbles against her head in a way that makes her heart pound dangerously against her rib cage. “So much.”

So just like that, Annabeth nearly falls for him all over again.

"You dumbass!" She pushes him off, hands fumbling through her pockets. "I m-missed you more." Hands come to wipe at her fresh tears. 

“H-here!” Annabeth sniffs as she hands him the one thing her mind has been lingering on non-stop: the shell.

He, blurry eyed and open mouthed, looks taken aback. For a second she thinks that he might be angry. That is, until he smiles.

“You kept it?” Percy asks. It's almost like he can't really believe it, like he didn't really expect her to keep it. 

"Of course I did, seaweed brain,” She gives a lopsided toothy smile. It doesn't really match her flushed face, but who's paying attention to that? 

When he looks at it fondly in his hands, Percy smiles to himself. “Its been too long, wisegirl." He looks her up and down. “You’ve changed."

She raises a eyebrow. "Like in a bad way?"

“N-no!” He's quick to correct himself. His looks the other way, trying to discreetly hide his blush. "No. Like i-in a... uhm- fuck." Percy covers his face.

"You've changed too.” Annabeth grins. “In a good way."

They smile each other for a second before someone from the shore line calls out Percy's name. He whips around, scowl growing on his face.

"I'll be back soon!" Percy rolls his eyes. He then turns to her.

"We should catch up," he says frantically, thoughts running on overdrive, "Have you been downtown yet? I'm staying at a new cabin a while away from hereー I'll take you there soon. Oh! And have you been to our spot? We can visit there later if you want.”

Annabeth cringes when the words fall from his lips. Our spot. She chews on her bottom lip. She can't really blame him for taking someone up there. Not even if she wanted to.

The rest of the day, and the next day after that, is bittersweet.

"I-Id be happy to.”

The sweetness is seeing Sally again. It's eating her famous blue cookies with Percy wearing bright smiles and her sporting the new sweater Sally crocheted. It's surfing for hours on end, it's playing with their dogs and meeting Mrs. O'Leary.

The sweetness is being with Percy once again; even if she does cringe when they go to their spot again.

The bitter, on the other hand, is meeting her.

Rachel.

Don't get her wrong. Annabeth was never much of a possessive or jealous person; and she still is not. She's level-headed, logical, and observative. Rachel is... Fine. She's crafty, Annabeth can tell by her paint-stained clothing and wry smile. She's pretty cool too. Rachel doesn't seem to have much of a problem getting along with her, so why does she feel so off about her?

"I'm Rachel," Annabeth remembers her smile quite clearly: It didn't quite reach her eyes. Or maybe Annabeth was just over-analyzing things? "It's nice to meet you, Annabeth!"

"Likewise." Annabeth gave a small smile. “Percy’s told me a lot about you."

“Oh, has he?” She giggled, "Well, I hope it's all good things." Rachel gave a teasing look towards Percy. 

Now thinking about it, Annabeth might have been a teeny-bit judgy. 

Percy, munching on a blue cookie, looks at her from his spot in his room. He narrows his eyes at her.

"I couldn't help but notice," He starts, as if reading her mind. "That you were a little on edge about Rachel.”

"Was I now?” She lazily questions, head hanging off his bed. 

“I think so." Percy hums.

"I was not," Annabeth scoffs. “I was just... Cautious."

"What's there to be cautious about?” He asks, spinning three times on the chair near his desk. He pauses to let the dizziness swirl his vision before coming back to look at her. the dog beside him, Mrs. O'Leary wags her tail lazily.

She sighs. "Nothing, I guess? It's just... Y'know what? Nevermind.”

"Spit it out.”

"No!”

"Yes!”

“No!”

“I’ll make you a container of blue cookies for the next three days?"

"...Fine!" Annabeth breathes after a beat.

She stretchesh her arms high above above her head. “What... W-what is she to you?”

Percy freezes, and she instantly goes into a panicky state. “Actually- Ignore that. Thats a stupid question so you don't need to answer, I just really-”

“Aww, is my little Annie jealous?" He unironicaly coos, “Don’t worry about it. Rachel's great."

Annabeth notices that Percy says her name in a intimate way. She notices how heat instantly flushes her face. She also notices that how he never answers her question in a way she'll understand.

Now that she's left hanging, Annabeth really can't stop more questions from flowing in her mind. 

Annabeth thinks that she's really been underreacting about Percy and his air of coolness. or maybe likeability?

Her arms flop down, and Mrs. O'Leary woofs.

Popularity?

Whatever it is, anyone can tell that Percy's much more than the dorky lame kid that used to be.

The group of girls that giggle and twirl their hair as they stare at him from their spot under an umbrella can surely see that, too.

It's not even those girls (who for the fact are pretty, much prettier than Annabeth) that can see that. Her neighbours talk about the 'handsome and nice young man that helped me carry my groceries'. (Guilty as chargedー the one and only Percy) or the 'Attractive boy who surfs early in the morning'.

The grannies at downtown's farmers market even gossip behind his back and treat him like some sort of Greek god with a perfectly structured jawline with a fit build and coy smile.

Oh, and did she mention he's as hot as the fucking sun?

(Which he, Annabeth thinks, owns up to.)

(She's really whipped for him.)

But he's respected her boundaries so far, so she'll keep her M rated thoughts to herself. But it's so fucking hard to not stare when he, clad in nothing but loose swimming shorts, shows up to her room at the crack of dawn.

"Looks like you're the talk of the town," Annabeth says teasingly as they settle into the sand. The umbrella provides the cool shade desperately need, to which Annabeth relishes in. “Is seaweed brain..." She feigns a fake gasp. “Actually likeable now?”

Percy threatens to shove a handful of sand down her throat, and she shuts up.

"Whatever," He mutters under his breath, eyes looking away from hers. For some reason he's avoiding looking at her. Annabeth thinks he's just embarrassed, but the way Percy steals glances at her when she's not looking, says otherwise.

"So where's Rachel?” She absent-mindedly asks. Not that she genuinely cares, or whatever, but theres really nothing else that occupies her mind. 

“Around,” He replies. "She told me she's going shopping in the next town for some swimsuits. Or something.”

"Ah."

A seagull screeches from above.

“Wanna see who gets in the water first?"

Annabeth already jolts upwards into a sprint towards the shoreline. "Hey! No fair!”

So the next while is spent with nothing but firendly smiles and secretive glances from Percy, surfing and swimming and having the most fun they've had together in a while. Annabeth grabs his ankle from under the waves, and she thinks that that might be the loudest scream she's ever heard.

Percy, mind stuck with thoughts on revenge, tried to come up with a scare of his own, until his lame scare comes out as throwing a peice of seaweed on her forehead.

 “Lameass!" She laughs, popping her head above the water.

“Smartass!” He yells back, eye twitching and tone sarcastic.

It isn't until the sun sets and the crabs crawl back into their caves is when they both flop back into the sand. Tired. Exhausted. Muscles sore and skin sunburnt.

For a solid thirty minutes it's just comftorable silence as the waves set the soundtrack. Along with the occasisonal him of the ocean, or even the cries of the cicadas back where the beach grass is.

For a solid thirty minutes, Annabeth thinks that she couldn't be more happier.

For a solid thirty minutes, all is calm, all is well, and nothing could be more perfect.

She closes her eyes for a minute thinking that she can spare one nap. Thinking that Percy will just wake me up, so it's fine if I snooze off, right? 

Annabeth dozes off with thoughts of him.

When she wakes up, Pery isn't beside her.

Nor is he on the beach.

For a hot minute Annabeth freaks out, squinting through the darkness to search for his figure. The lantern her doesn't really provide much light, let alone three feet away from her.

But then she sees that his surfboard isn't wedged into the ground, and his things are still there.

So where is he?

Oh. Annabeth thinks lamely to herself when she spots the figure swaying with the waves atop his surfboard. There he is.

It's illogical, really, for her to go after him.

If you don't go, that Rachel girl's got him forever, her head prods, you'll lose him forever.

It's even more illogical when Annabeth grabs her surfboard with a determined look; sandy hair and all.

The waves are calm tonight. No huge crashing of the chilled water, no raging seas or bitterly cold air. The clouds enclose the pale moon, only tiny beams managing to escape. She thinks it casts a blue hue to everything.

Using her arm to paddle her way over, Annabeth catches a glimpse at the stars.

Gods, the stars.

They're brightー brighter than the city that isー and bigger, too. They shine in a way that leaves Annabeth breathless.

Percy hums when she closes in next to him. His limbs dangle off of the surfboard and into the cool waters, occasionally shifting to keep steady. She hums back in reply.

A small wave laps across the shore.

 “That's Perseus.” Annabeth says lazily. She lays down, too, hair splayed across the board. "The constellation, I mean.”

“Perseus, huh?" Percy follows where she points: diagonal from the pair. “Like my name?"

"Like the Greek hero Perseus.” She murmurs quietly.

“You've told me about him." He recalls, "He slayed Medusa and saved Andromeda, right?"

"Mhm," Annabeth nods. "He also had a happy ending. That is, for most Greek heroes.”

She smiles to herself, and Percy can't really think of anything more beautiful than her.

Believe it or not, Percy is good at hiding things. 

Like when he hides the secret stash of snacks under his bed from his mom, (for three years straight and running) or when he hid Mrs. O'Leary when she was just a pup in his closet.

He likes to think that he's good at hiding his feelings too.

Feelings about Annabeth, of course.

Not that he really has anything for herー it's just that whenever he sees her he gets a fluttery feeling in his stomach, his voice gets all awkward, his mind instantly goes to how fucking gorgeous she looks, and how she practically radiates coolness and calm.

Okay. So what if he's head over heels for her?

Percy thinks it started a while ago.

He thinks it started when Rachel first called him seaweed brain.

“-Seaweed brain,” it falls from her lips on a warm spring day, when they're sitting in his room while it rains. 

Percy freezes to look at her. "What?"

“I said It raining cats and dogs out there,” Rachel repeats, “Seaweed brain."

When she catches the slightly shocked look on his face, she frowns. “Something wrong?”

"No,” He murmurs, looking down. "Actually- kinda. that nickname just threw me off a bit, I guess.” Percy give a lopsided smile.

Annabeth only calls me that, he thinks. It feels weird when you say it.

“Oh." She deadpans. “Should I not call you that then? I saw that Annabeth girl call you that, like, a ton of times in one of her letters.” Her eyebrows raise, and Percy reels.

“You were reading my letters?" He frowns. “...Whatever. The nickname- its kind of a personal thing. You know, between me and, uh... her. It'd be cool if you didn't say it.”

“Oh. Okay.” Rachel huffs.

Somehow, Percy never labeled it as love.

Percy didn't label it as love when Annabeth became the ‘nothing!' that came out of his mouth when Sally asked why he was smiling so much. Not when he couldn't stop staring at her in her swecause fuck, she looks so good. Not when Percy was confused on why his love for her became something more.

But that night, that one single night, when Annabeth came to join him under the stars, is when he thought otherwise.

With sunkissed sunburnt skin, 

lips cracked and dry,

moonlight against her face,

The last day of Annabeth's vacation comes on a sunny humid day with the clouds nowhere to be seen. 

He did label it love.

There isn't an air of despair, however, Annabeth'll be back next year for a solid week in winter. College would be a pain, so she'll have one last vacation with her family before she starts her career.

For some reason Percy isn't sad when the news comes to him on her college. New Rome, a prestigious school in the middle of both their cities. All he gives is a coy grin; she can't wrap her mind around hit quite yet.

 "You got plans tonight?” Percy asks suddenly, his voice echoing through Annabeth's room. 

“No.” She tilts her head. “Why? Got something planned?"

“Yeah, actually.” He grins. “We're going to a party of a friend of mine.”

“What?" Annabeth nearly falls off her bed, eyes widened and mouth agape. A party? Tonight? 

“Yup! You better get ready, 'cuz we're leaving in...” Percy checks the clock on her bed side table. "Two hours. See ya!" Is all he says before he hopes out of her window. 

Annabeth nearly screams, but remembers that he's been climbing and jumping out of her window for years now. she lets out a ragged sigh of relief.

"Fuck you!” She yells out to his figure, already dashing away. He turns around, sly smirk on his face.

“Only if you watch!" 

And then he's gone, leaving Annabeth with a red hot face and a flustered mess.

Fuck.

.

.

The next two hours is- um, well...

Chaotic.

Just plain chaotic.

Her who closet is thrown into her bed in a contemplation what to wear. Light or dark? Whats the occasion? How much people are attending? What's the setting?

You're overthinking things again, Annabeth's mind jolts. Just throw something on!

Along with chaotic, she would also describe the scene as a fever dream. 

She opts to wear a black bodycon dress with stringy ties and a loose and light jacket. Annabeth can't really deceive the rest of her look- her mind is all gushy and mushy.

So here she is, standing in front of the booming house, (Percy didn't even bother to drive here there, the jerk) hands fidgeting like she can't stop.

(She can't.)

Annabeth takes a deep breath. She won't be here for a while, so whats she so afraid about? Sure, there's somone puking in a bush that she wants no part in, and there might be concerning sounds coming from inside the huge building, but who's paying attention to that?

Before she can back out, a voice calls out her name.

"Wisegirl!" Percy beams, “Hey!”

“Seaweed brain.” Annabeth crosses her arms as a her bottom lip juts out. "We're were you?"

“Lets not focus on that." He nervously laughs. “But c'mon inside. I want you to meet a few people.”

"Hm?”

The house is just as bad as she thought.

Red Solo cups everywhere, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes especially strong near the kitchen and couches. Bodies bump into her here and there like some sort of mosh pit. They don't even apologize, instead murmuring something with a tipsy tone.

"Grover!" Percy calls a guy over. "Don't you remember Annabeth?”

"Annabeth?" Grover, what she can assume is his friend, looks over to them. His eyes light up when he meets her gaze.

"It's been a while!" Annabeth smiles. Grover! It's been a minute since she's seen him, back when they were all kids. She fondly remembers beach trips with him back then, eating popsicles on her cabin stairs and all.

“It certainly has,” He sighs happily.

Percy then introduces her to many others: Hazel, a bright girl with a even brighter smile, Frank, a towering guy with a friendly touch, Jasonー a blonde guy with a oddly stapler shaped scar on his lip, Piper, a bubbly girl with a flirtatious smile. 

She'd go on about more of them, but at that point Annabeth would be rambling.

"Have you seen Percy around?" Annabeth asks to Grover when she loses him in the bustling crowd.

He nods his head no, and someone tugs on her arm.

“C'monnnn," A girl she met earlier drunkenly tugs harder, “We’re playing truth or dare downstairs!"

She wants do pull away, say no, but then Annabeth spots him in the crowd with people slung around him.

By the looks of it, they're flirting with him, words forming and lips ruling into flirtatious smiles. They touch him in ways that make her cringe. 

Annabeth hates herself for frowning and continuing to stare. The worst part, thinks, is that he's not trying to pull away. Nor is he denying their actions. In fact, he's indulging in it. 

Shit. She shouldn't be thinking this way. Percy's popular and nice. He's bound to attract a few people, and he's not hers.

Annabeth was never the jealous type, but for now she can let the horriblefeeling in her stomach slide just this once. 

She accepts the girl's prodding with a feignged smile.